On the way home from the airport after our trip to Branson, MO, my husband and I sat in the back of the car and chatted with my dad and our oldest son sitting in front. My son asked me about the fastest speed I had ever gotten a ticket for.
Today is Tuesday, June 19, Juneteenth, also known as Freedom Day.
I found Just Mercy: The Story of Justice and Redemption, by Bryan Stevenson, on another blog that features books, and I agree with most of what was said. I got the book on inter-library loan and finished it in just a few days.
While the book gets compared to To Kill a Mockingbird, I would note that while that book is a work of fiction, the stories in Just Mercy are about real people whose lives were destroyed by a broken justice system – some of the prisoners mentioned never receive justice.
It was eye-opening to me to re-discover the history of racism in the South (including convict leasing) that I didn’t know the depth of. It sent me back to the Chaplain’s post on race. While we had talked here and there about different issues, that post was the first time I had the open window to a full perspective on his take on current events and race in America.
Getting a better understanding of the continuing race issues in our country was tough. I had to take a break from reading a couple of times. The book focuses on the Deep South, but laces in stories from all over the United States, a grim reminder that injustice for Blacks and the poor are not limited to one area of the U.S.
I felt indignant as I read. I hated the thought that one of my kids could be put in the position that the prisoners in the book found themselves in. I felt for the mothers and grandmothers who in desperation approached the author, a lawyer, for help for their children and grandchildren. I felt for the young people who had been wronged.
My first thought was, what can I do? I still don’t have a good answer for that. It’s so frustrating to know where to begin to bring change when the status quo is so deeply institutionalized. Yet the book made it very clear that even when the way forward seems obvious, our legal system is so convoluted that years can pass before meaningful change is made. By then, it can be too late for those who need it most.
We are paying so much, as a nation – in emotional currency and in actual dollars, to support a system that is destroying us. It destroys trust in the establishment; it destroys lives.
It was good to read about the work that is being done for justice, but it was difficult to know the cost which is being paid by those who are still waiting for reckoning.
The time my mom put my pigtails in too tight. That is to say, the scalp sensitivity referenced below may be of a genetic nature.
There are some things you can only learn by living them.
Black Hair is something I am beginning to understand. I first had a glimmer of understanding in college, watching a comedy where Caucasian girls were disparaged for flipping their hair around. As a Caucasian girl, when I did have hair, I always liked the way it flopped around, especially when I was running and had it in a ponytail. But it also always bothered me when other girls with my hair type were really obvious about their personal grooming or touching and flipping their hair around in public. In the movie, it was portrayed as something annoying because it is something Black hair just doesn’t do.
This year, my middle daughter is in her third year of competition dance. For each of her three classes, she has a different costume, makeup, tights, shoes, and a hairstyle. For ballet, that usually means a bun, and after I finally looked up how to do it on YouTube, I’ve had good results. It’s super satisfying to take a couple of my oldest son’s worn out (and laundered) black socks, cut the toes off, and roll them into a fat donut that makes my daughter’s bun look thick and round.
I have what they call a Large Family. In fact, as one of my sister-in-law’s friends put it, “That squad is deep.” I don’t know if it was meant as a compliment, but I like it. We have a Deep Squad.
Sometimes we get a super warm welcome.
Our kids are generally well behaved. They are smart, and interesting. Yep, they totally have their bad days, and when they are excited and confined to a small space, even I don’t want to be with them.
I have had home births for my last 6 kids, so it’s fair to say I have some experience with the process. With those births, I had three different midwives, and gave birth in two different homes. I gave birth with Medicaid, MVP, CDPHP, and MVP again. I gave birth in bathrooms, a living room, and a bedroom. On a birthing stool. Labored in a tub. Cut the cord. Had my husband do it. With doulas and without. With other kids in the room and without. Gave birth with my husband by my side, and with him downstairs taking care of the other kids, thinking we still had some time before the baby came.
I have prepped my house and gone over the supply list. I have had home visits from my midwives, and I have gone to their offices. I have read birth books to prepare that left me feeling strong and ready. I’ve read birth books that terrified me, put me off, or annoyed me (and after searching for all those links, I’m sure Amazon is convinced I am pregnant again. False alarm.)
From time to time, folks who know about my experience will ask if they can give my info to a friend who is considering home birth. I always say yes. I have had overwhelmingly positive experiences with my births, and if I can encourage another person or give them the information they need to consider a home birth for themselves, I am all over it.
Recently, one such mama called me after getting my number from a mutual friend.
