Monday, September 26, 2011
Sooo . . . Whatchya Packin'?
This blog post is directed at those decent people who know about something that is wrong, but who aren’t speaking up out of fear. You know who you are . . . Now I have a question for you: What are you packin’ down there between your legs – metaphorically speaking, of course, as some of you are women. Are you going to allow your inaction to come to the aid of the bad guys (and yeah, there is such a thing as bad guys – it ain’t all shades of gray) or are you going to come forward and add your voice and your information to the choir of “Aw HELL NO!” and sing along? Just askin’ . . . Just wonderin’ if, when you reach down between your legs, those two round things right there are gonna be used or just left hangin’ . . .
Sunday, September 4, 2011
A Goodbye to a Great Lady
Courage does not always enter with a great rush and flurry of giant wings dramatically coming to the rescue. Sometimes it tiptoes into the room and goes about its work quietly and efficiently – soothing the hurt and cleaning up the carnage that the more vocal and visible of us leave behind. My dad used to say that those were the true heroes, the ones who thanklessly did the ordinary things that need doing to make life livable; as usual, he was right.
We lost one of those heroes today. Mrs James Tinch, “Jimmie,” of Cartersville, GA, one of the greatest, most courageous women I have ever had the good fortune to meet in my life; a woman who even I, a hard-headed Yankee who bows to no man, would gladly address as “Maam” with the full respect that that title carries. My heart goes out to her family. She will be missed.
Jimmie has passed on, but her influence does and will continue. I was not able to be there with her in her final years, or with her daughter, my much loved friend, who has tended to the necessary tasks as dementia cruelly stole her mother’s independence, some of her mind, but never her dignity. It was my intention to spend more time in Georgia to help my friend care for her mother, but that was not possible. I was instead called to the front lines of the civil and human rights battle that is currently claiming an untold number of immigrant victims. Jimmie would understand. Jimmie knew what too many today have forgotten – that civil rights are bought and paid for with constant diligence and more than a little discomfort and sacrifice.
Jimmie Tinch set that example not with a lot of speeches or marching, but through simple daily action. She and her husband stood up for what they believed in by living their life with dignity and honor. After the Civil Rights Act was passed the South did not immediately turn into a warm and happily diverse community living in peace and harmony. Many whites resisted change, some still do to this day. In the 60s, black people who exercised their rights placed themselves in extreme danger and “race mixing” was not only frowned on, it could get you killed.
It was during those times that the Tinch family welcomed me into their home to live with them through part of the holidays. Their daughter attended school in New Hampshire on a scholarship, one of only three black students in the whole school, just enough for the school to be considered “integrated.” She and I had become good friends. I knew very little about bigotry and hatred, but like many whites at that time I thought I knew a great deal, prided myself on having a progressive and open attitude. It is easy to know much when one has experienced very little and, of course, I was a teenager and teenagers know everything.
I had no idea the danger I was walking into when I went to stay with that family. I don’t think that any of the Tinch children fully understood either, but I know Jimmie and James did. They knew having a teenage white girl in their house, especially with young, teenage black males around, was a bold and dangerous move, but they also knew real change was going to take many such moves done by many such families until the extraordinary became ordinary. Jimmie and James welcomed me, accepted me, put up with me and taught me. I would not be where I am today without their influence and I will be forever grateful to them, but there is a special place in my heart for Jimmie. She was amazing.
I stayed with the Tinchs as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Then it wasn’t, but today it is, not just because the Civil Rights Act was passed, not just because people marched and gave speeches and wrote and sang, but because quiet, brave people like Jimmie Tinch refused to submit to the ugliness that is hate. Jimmie treated me like one of her own, she was warm and understanding, she was an amazing cook and a gracious hostess. She did not have much, but she gave what she had with such generosity she made many a wealthy man seem destitute by comparison.
Jimmie took care of people as automatically and naturally as she breathed; she didn’t even think about it, she just did it. Everyone who knew Jimmie knew that about her, but not everyone knew all that Jimmie had done in her life; not everyone knew that that quiet, calm woman had courage equal to the fiercest warrior, that she was one of the many who steadily soldiered on through the height of the civil rights era doing the hard, unsung work that creates real change. They should know that. They should know a giant passed away today.
Maam, my hat is off to you. Rest in peace and thank you . . .
We lost one of those heroes today. Mrs James Tinch, “Jimmie,” of Cartersville, GA, one of the greatest, most courageous women I have ever had the good fortune to meet in my life; a woman who even I, a hard-headed Yankee who bows to no man, would gladly address as “Maam” with the full respect that that title carries. My heart goes out to her family. She will be missed.
Jimmie has passed on, but her influence does and will continue. I was not able to be there with her in her final years, or with her daughter, my much loved friend, who has tended to the necessary tasks as dementia cruelly stole her mother’s independence, some of her mind, but never her dignity. It was my intention to spend more time in Georgia to help my friend care for her mother, but that was not possible. I was instead called to the front lines of the civil and human rights battle that is currently claiming an untold number of immigrant victims. Jimmie would understand. Jimmie knew what too many today have forgotten – that civil rights are bought and paid for with constant diligence and more than a little discomfort and sacrifice.
Jimmie Tinch set that example not with a lot of speeches or marching, but through simple daily action. She and her husband stood up for what they believed in by living their life with dignity and honor. After the Civil Rights Act was passed the South did not immediately turn into a warm and happily diverse community living in peace and harmony. Many whites resisted change, some still do to this day. In the 60s, black people who exercised their rights placed themselves in extreme danger and “race mixing” was not only frowned on, it could get you killed.
It was during those times that the Tinch family welcomed me into their home to live with them through part of the holidays. Their daughter attended school in New Hampshire on a scholarship, one of only three black students in the whole school, just enough for the school to be considered “integrated.” She and I had become good friends. I knew very little about bigotry and hatred, but like many whites at that time I thought I knew a great deal, prided myself on having a progressive and open attitude. It is easy to know much when one has experienced very little and, of course, I was a teenager and teenagers know everything.
I had no idea the danger I was walking into when I went to stay with that family. I don’t think that any of the Tinch children fully understood either, but I know Jimmie and James did. They knew having a teenage white girl in their house, especially with young, teenage black males around, was a bold and dangerous move, but they also knew real change was going to take many such moves done by many such families until the extraordinary became ordinary. Jimmie and James welcomed me, accepted me, put up with me and taught me. I would not be where I am today without their influence and I will be forever grateful to them, but there is a special place in my heart for Jimmie. She was amazing.
I stayed with the Tinchs as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Then it wasn’t, but today it is, not just because the Civil Rights Act was passed, not just because people marched and gave speeches and wrote and sang, but because quiet, brave people like Jimmie Tinch refused to submit to the ugliness that is hate. Jimmie treated me like one of her own, she was warm and understanding, she was an amazing cook and a gracious hostess. She did not have much, but she gave what she had with such generosity she made many a wealthy man seem destitute by comparison.
Jimmie took care of people as automatically and naturally as she breathed; she didn’t even think about it, she just did it. Everyone who knew Jimmie knew that about her, but not everyone knew all that Jimmie had done in her life; not everyone knew that that quiet, calm woman had courage equal to the fiercest warrior, that she was one of the many who steadily soldiered on through the height of the civil rights era doing the hard, unsung work that creates real change. They should know that. They should know a giant passed away today.
Maam, my hat is off to you. Rest in peace and thank you . . .
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