Friday, June 26, 2015

Where I was raised



I was raised in a wonderful home on, what was at the time, the corner of Bank and Royall in the Old Village of Mt. Pleasant, SC.  I rode my bike to school, and on the way home from school, I would stop at Pitt Street Pharmacy for 5 cent candy, a toasted egg salad sandwich, and a real vanilla coke out of the fountain. I would often buy a second sandwich for my pediatrician, Dr. Ward, whom I loved, and would walk it down to his office and sit for a little chat before I peddled home to my family.  For all intents and purposes, I grew up in Mayberry.

But even Mayberry has it's unspoken, but very real harsh realities. As I mentioned, I grew up next to Royall, which today, when you drive down it, appears to be similar to many other roads in the neighborhood. In 1986, it was very different. This one road was a dividing wall between black and white - not to be crossed by either race. White children were not to play with black and vice versa. I was friends with a wonderful girl in the 5th grade. She was black. I was not allowed to go to her house, nor she mine. And so we would walk home slowly, enjoying our friendship away from the division we did not understand, but knew we could not change.

While I am getting older, lord knows, I am not that old. This was less than 30 years ago.

When I was figuring out where to move 5.5 years ago, it was difficult for me to consider moving back to this beautiful city. My memories were of societal rules that I didn't agree with nor felt the urge to conform to. The thought of returning to a city where a street would separate black and white so forcefully without a single physical factor in play, where appearances mattered more than truth, and where speaking your mind was frowned upon, was not an easy one.

And yet, my mother and father were in Charleston, my family.

I returned.


In 2010, I found a much changed Charleston. While this city is still the same in so many ways, it has changed and continues to change. The people, old and new, are bringing about the changes that can be so painful for those who resist it with all their might. This city has been damaged time and again over the centuries. Each time, the people rebuild the city, only better.


June of 2015 is no different. If the cameras were not rolling, we would still be rebuilding this city even better than before. We would stand hand in hand, learning from our historical mistakes, and leaning on our community leaders to guide us, but not afraid of the work. Charleston is forever changed, but the lives lost in creating that change are great. The devastation drives the love. It is my hope that when the flag is down, the funerals complete, the media is gone, that the love shines even brighter. It is my hope that when we all see the lights of the Ravenel Bridge, the boats in the harbor, the church steeples above the skyline, we will not forget that this great city continues to be rebuilt, and how it raises its children in the future generations is up to us. 

Let us raise our families to love, to understand, to ask questions, to create change, to change societal rules that hurt those whose voices are silenced, to know that appearances do not matter more than truth, and to remember how to embrace everyone in this great Holy City.


If I am lucky enough to one day have children, I will teach them about what happened on June 17th, 2015. I will teach them the history of this nation and the world: civil rights, women's rights, LGBT rights, and everything in between. I will do this in the hope that several generations from now, love will have driven out hate, that education will drive out ignorance, and that they will know those who knowingly and unknowingly sacrificed their lives so that our world would be better, that we would be better.

I love my city, my home. I am forever grateful for the chance to come home, to be a part of the next chapter in the life of one of the greatest cities in this nation.



And on this day, more than anything, my thoughts, love, and tears go out to the families of the nine incredible and amazing victims of the shooting on June 17th, and to every family of those who have sacrificed all.


May we all remember and continue the work so many before us have begun.

Sunday, January 11, 2015

We all travel different roads...

Why do we feel compelled to judge one another without a second thought to circumstance?

There is so much that we all go through on a daily basis that no one else fully realizes. Why should they? Who do we tell? Do we share too much? Too little? Either way, we just don't know, so don't judge as if you do.  This is a note to myself as much as to you. Don't judge. Period.

The woman who is driving too slow in the left lane may have just lost her spouse. She may be heading to the funeral home to make decisions she never wanted to make.

Or maybe her daughter just had a baby. A baby who will never live to see tomorrow.

Or maybe her dog is at the emergency vet receiving dialysis that may or may not save his/her life.

Or maybe her house just burned down and she is trying to find the closest Red Cross building to make her appointment for help.

Or maybe her favorite song came on, the one that reminds her of that Summer, and she got lost, even if just for a moment.

Or maybe she is daydreaming of the life she has yet to lead.

You don't know. I don't know. So before you judge, just don't.

We all have our own roads to travel. Some of those roads are wonderful and lush, full of passion and excitement. Others are hard and worn, full of despair and faithlessness. Some of them are everything in between - the ones we get through, the ones we survive, and the ones we have joy in recounting. We all travel these roads. That is the one thing I try to always remember.