HOPEFULLY

HOPEFULLY






I find myself in a very uncomfortable place inside. Most of my life I have struggled to come to grips with the horrendous treatment of my darker skinned family. When I let myself feel my feelings I am angry, frustrated and have an uncomfortable lump in my throat. When I see or hear of a child who receives a subtle or overt action which causes a diminishing of his/her self-image of nobility because of the complexion of the skin I am incensed and depressed. When I see the obvious difference in the level of decent housing and safe neighborhoods I cringe. When I see the indoctrination of despair and hopelessness and acceptance of society’s inequalities manifested in a teen pregnancy or a youth headed down the path of violence, crime or drugs I want to scream.



When I look at the beautiful faces of my grandsons who have a blond blue-eyed father and a dark brown-eyed mother I desperately yearn to change the world – to fight the demons – to slay the dragons. I want to watch my grandsons grow strong and noble and princely – not doubting their right to be all their talents and abilities urge them to be.



I only want to find good friends and enjoy the sharing and caring. No grand and glorious charges up the hill, just a quiet chat with my pal who looks different but we share the same dreams, and hopes and pains. I am brought back to a sense of humility and guilt at a quieter approach. I long for the energy of the early years of my struggle.



Is this old age, depression or inertia? Yet, what can one shy, old southern white woman with no “degree” or exceptional talent do? I feel so inadequate and limited in my own growth, in my effectiveness or ability to help others grow. How dare I presume to think I’ve made any progress? I’m weary and shy. I can’t “do” very well but I can “love” very well. For a while shyness lost its grip but now it is returning. Who am I to say I can “do”, I seem to only feel now.



Hopefully, my writing efforts will stir another soul to open the door of friendships wider.

1999