Thanksgiving

It’s 7:00 am. As I open my eyes, I realize for the 2^nd year in a row, I am waking up in an unfamiliar city, under a roof and in bed that’s not mine. There are no smells of my Mother’s Thanksgiving feast being prepared. No sounds of children running and playing…just silence. The silence and lack of a holiday feeling bring tears to my eyes… how I miss the good ol’ days.

I remember as a child, Thanksgiving was my favorite holiday. I’ve always been greedy. As a matter of fact my Momma used to call me “Greedy Gut.” I would wake up to the smell of Momma’s turkey roasting, and the sound of potatoes being cut for her homemade potato salad. I was that kid that would continuously ask, “Momma, you need some help?” Not because I really wanted to help, but because I wanted us to eat as soon as possible.

I remember going to pick up Nana. As I walked in her house I would smell the sweet aroma of dressing and sweet potatoes, praying she had made her famous Chicken and Dumplings one more time. She would always tell me to enjoy today…because tomorrow is not promised. As we would drive from her house back to ours, the anticipation would literally feel like it was killing me. I had to eat right now.

I remember the calls from Ohio. I would say “Hello”, and hear what sounded like an army of family scream “Happy Thanksgiving!” I remember years when we were in Toledo for the holiday. Granddaddy would have us playing ping pong for hours. When that ended, the pool tournaments started. At dinner time we would all stand around the table holding hands to pray. My brother and I would close one eye looking at each other giggling in anticipation for Granddaddy’s famous prayer. Grandma Rose would say “Say Grace Charles.” As all of us bowed our heads Granddaddy would say “Grace!.. Now lets eat!” Made me laugh every single time I heard it.

As I got older I remember being awakened by Babygirl climbing in the bed with me. She would whisper, “Happy Thanksgiving Daddy.” I would look at her precious little smiling face. Her breathe would be hot enough to make your nose bleed but there’s nothing more precious than your child’s smile. In 2004 I took a mental picture of Thanksgiving. We held hands and Nana started to pray. I remember looking at my brother and thinking “we did it,” as we held hands in a circle of our wives, our parents, our kids, and Nana. I knew I were blessed…but as Nana always told me, tomorrow wasn’t promised.

As I lay here at 7:05am with tears streaming my sadness turns into joy. I am so thankful for the memories God blessed me with. I am Thankful that I was blessed to grow up surrounded by love. I am Thankful that I was blessed with two wonderful parents that broke their backs to give me and my brother the opportunity to succeed in life. I am Thankful that I was blessed to have had the years I had with Nana, Granddaddy, and Grandma Rose. I am Thankful and blessed I am a member of such a loving family and have so many real friends…because I know and understand tomorrow is not promised.

So today as you sit and enjoy your holiday, take just a moment to “stop and smell the flowers.” Don’t be in such a rush to get from place to place. Enjoy the old stories you will hear. Enjoy that little son, daughter, nephew, niece, or cousin that is super energetic and getting on everyone’s nerves.  Enjoy the food that was made with such love and care. Take time to sit and talk with the elders of the family. Be thankful for Today… because one thing we know for sure, is tomorrow isn’t promised…and if God grants you the ability to see tomorrow, it will never be the same as today.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Will We Ever Be Free?

What I am about to tell you is a true story. It didn’t happen 50 years ago… It didn’t happen 25 years ago… It happened last week…now approximately 5 days ago.

While at work, the kitchen manager (a white male in his late 30’s early 40’s) was “joking” around with another cook (a 35 year old Black male).  They started slinging little insults and threats back and forth. The Black male said “hey don’t make me put you in the oven.” This was the white male’s response:

“You know…I bet you wouldn’t be so tough if I had my ski mask on… with my gun in your mouth. I bet you would cry like a baby… Pleading for your life…. I have chains in the truck… Don’t make me do something crazy.” Then as he walked off, he turned around and said “Don’t forget this is Georgia!”

When I heard that…the rage that I felt…the disrespect I felt was almost more then I could contain. I literally wanted to knock him out… I wanted to make him swallow his teeth. The fact he felt comfortable enough to say that in my presence to me equaled total disrespect…not only to me, but to the millions of African brought here, tortured, hung, raped, killed etc for HUNDREDS of years.

Visibly upset, I went to another part of the kitchen and began to work. I was quiet. I was still. I took a moment and prayed to God. I asked Him to steady my hands, give me control over my mind and my emotions… I could hear the many speeches of Malcolm X, Marcus Gravey, Martin Luther King Jr. and others playing in my head. One part of me wanted to quit right there but another part of me knew understood this was a time to “stand up and stand out.”

After about an hr of me walking around being quiet, the kitchen manager came up to me and asked me “is everything ok? You’ve been really quiet.” The conversation then went as followed:

Me: “I am offended by the comments you made to the cook.”

Him: “Why? We were just playing. You know me. I don’t have a racist bone in my body. In 2013 I didn’t know somebody like you would be offended by that.”

Me: “What does that mean?  Somebody like me?... and I don’t know you… I don’t know anything about you except what I see here, and clearly you don’t know me! So what its 2013… Do you realize Black people were just able to vote about 60 years ago? And to say you have chains in the truck…what did that mean? To say this is Georgia…what did that mean?

Him: “I was just joking about the chains… and I said this is Georgia showing I could defend myself because he had threatened me.”

Me: “This is the United States…you can defend yourself wherever you are…you said that because Georgia is known for its racist acts. You know the oldest “hanging tree” in the south is in Savannah, GA? Do you realize maybe 10 years ago a man was chained to a truck and drug down a street by 3 guys in Texas? Yet you claim the comments you made are not racist? You said you worked in corporate America for 25 years. Would you have made these comments at the last place you worked at?”

Him: “No”

Me: “Then why would you do it here?”

Him: “Because everybody else talks like that.”

Me: “Well as a grown man you should stop letting others be you barometer for what’s right or acceptable. As an employer it is your duty to make sure your employee have and maintain a safe and comfortable work environment.”

Him: “I hear people call each other the N-word all the time around here all the time. That doesn’t offend me…does it offend you?”

Me: “Hell yeah it offends me. And as the Kitchen manager it is your job to tell them this is a place of business and language like that is not appropriate.”

In the end, filled with anger and disrespect, I walked away. I finished my job duties for the evening and decided to leave. Before I left he came up to me and extended his hand and said, “I’m so sorry I offended you.” I shook his hand to his surprise. I told him, “I serve a God who tells me I must forgive”….but as I stared deep into his eyes…like a lion looking at pray, I continued saying “but I never forget.” 

I took the time to write this story to explain this. If any of you out there believe you are free, or racism has died, you are lying to yourself.  The same stories that my grandparents, and parents told me occur every day in our society. We are all slaves…some of us are just locked down tighter than others.  As a people we cannot claim to be free until the same respect they show a black billionaire is shown to the average guy walking down any street. We still have a lot of work to do. We must stand up and stand out if we ever want to feel freedom in “our” country.