Saturday, June 27, 2009

i know, i know

I know I've not posted lately, but I didn't realize just exactly how long it's been. June 10th.

How rude.

I know I should have told you what's going on.

I am so inconsiderate.

I know about being polite and courteous and having good manners. I wrote the book on being considerate, then did the opposite.

I'm sorry y'all.

I have to take a break from this. I love this blog, I need to write this blog like I need to breathe. I have just scratched the surface.

But life happens and I have to move forward and let life lead me in a new direction.

The direction I'm taking is educational. I'm going to school.

Oh and taking care of three kids who expect me to be Ms. Entertainment Extraordinaire while school is out for the summer.

Guess they are entitled to that but still........I'm spread so thin.

While I'm doing all that I remain my husband's BFF, always and forever.

Occasionally I clean the house, but only when it screams out, hysterically demanding my attention.

But I digress.

This leads me back here, to my treasured blog and you. I miss you. I miss writing my story. But life has priorities and I hope you have recognized mine.

I will be back.

Also, you can cool believe if I have an epiphany I'll be here writing about it.

I'll also be checking in on you and comment when I can afford the time.

But trust in this....I'll be thinking of all of you.

Love you all and see you soon, Shirl

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

the ingredients of a racist

I've been following a new blog: Black Conscious Thought that is well written and very thought provoking. Von, the author, bravely tackles some issues where others might prefer to not "hit a nerve".

I left a comment yesterday pertaining to what determines a person to grow up to be racist. After leaving the comment, I kept thinking about this topic.

As most of you who have followed my story know, I grew up in a "racist household". The "N" word rolled off tongues as easily as any other word. We moved from my childhood home solely to get away from "them". I went to an all white high school in the 70's. Then I went out into the world and grew as a person, inside and out. I am now married to my best friend who's skin is darker than mine and as a result, no longer have contact with my parents.

Many people are raised in homes identical to the one I grew up in and I'm sure a large number of those people follow in their parents footsteps. But what about those like me who choose a different path? What is the ingredient that determines a difference in which direction we take in life?

Well, like all recipes I don't think there is one single ingredient that determines the outcome of something, in this case a life. But combine a few ingredients together and the outcome can often be predictable.

I think when we are young certain ideas, ingredients, are added whether it's racism or communism or whatever. Parents are responsible for those ingredients. Then how they stir those ingredients afterwards is what determines the outcome.

In my situation, I was driven away by conditional love. Each time I misbehaved either as a child and then with perceived "misbehavior's" as an adult, I was shut out. The door of love, acceptance, security and belonging slammed forcefully in my face. Sometimes as an adult for years, then it would crack open a little and if I begged enough, it would open a little at a time. Until one day I looked through the door from the other side and realized I didn't belong there. It dawned on me that I was made up of different ingredients. Better ones, more wholesome and fresh.

Now what about those who follow their parents beliefs, no matter how ugly? Are they accepted and nurtured and loved by those parents? So secure in their environment that they don't question the life they're living no matter how ugly, wrong or evil? Are they are so settled and happy they just blindly follow along, unquestioning in their comfortable beliefs? A recipe for disaster to pass along to their children for generations to come, based on unconditional love and acceptance.

It's a little ironic, isn't it?