Amos 9:14-15 (Good News Bible, American Bible Society, 1976), “’… I will bring my people back to their land. They will rebuild their ruined cities and live there; they will plant vineyards and drink the wine; they will plant gardens and eat what they grow. I will plant my people on the land I gave them, and they will not be pulled up again.’ The Lord your God has spoken.”
I trudged out in the snow today, making my way to Davin’s Christmas program at Teddy Bear Pre-School (in First Lutheran Church). It was so cold outside, that any exposed skin would crack and redden with instant frostbit once exposed to the frigid temperatures. So cold that when a glass of milk spilled in the car, it instantly froze and formed a kind of crystallized ice cream. I made sure to buy Jaelynn’s “Dora the Explorer” jacket one size too big, so she is insulated in warmth. As an added bonus, the jacket almost reaches her knees. Last year, I bundled Jaelynn up in a jacket with a fuzzy sleeper over the top, may have to do that again this year so Jaelynn doesn’t turn into a snow baby! My arms are piled high—a trademark of motherhood—with a diaper bag, two loaves of warmed corn bread (one loaf is topped with my special honey-brown sugar mixture), my purse, and my video camera bag. Mick is trudging behind with Jaelynn, morning coffee has not quite kicked in and he is half-asleep, stumbling around like a frozen caveman. The warmth is immediate as we open the door to First Lutheran, the laughter of children rings through the hallway. Jaelynn squirms out of Mick’s arms, her chubby legs race towards the festivity.
The theme of the Christmas program is “Christmas Around the World”. On the cover of the brochure is a picture of a globe surrounded by children, of various ethnicities, who hold hands, dancing around the world. I am touched by the words written on the back of the program: May your Christmas be bright with promise, warm with love and blessed with joy from JESUS whose birthday we celebrate. Thanks be to God for his unspeakable gift…Jesus. I don’t understand the people who try to make Christmas a controversy, when the majority of people in America celebrate Christmas. When all of us share in the blessings from God, whether you are religious or not our very freedom, our very intelligence is bestowed from a Higher Power—is not of a human invention. I am so thankful for the celebration of Christmas at Teddy Bear Pre-School, as truly being a celebration, and a time for coming together. My soul felt deeply nourished by the warmth, the love so fully present in the room. Davin’s teacher, Mrs. Betty began with a short introduction then opened to the floor to Pastor Jan, who said a prayer. So sweet, the children then chose a prayer in which they all participated. After praying, the families flocked to a buffet table loaded with Mrs. Betty’s home-cooked Italian dinner—a sumptuous feast! When the Christmas program began, the children walked around the dining room, waving flags that represented many countries. The children also celebrated their heritage by dressing in costumes that represented their nationality. There was a little girl who dressed in a beautiful lavender silk tunic embroidered with flowers, and wore loose pants underneath—dressing in the traditional garb of India. There was little boy with a green vest decorated with shamrocks who wore a bowler’s hat that had a ribbon it that said “Kiss Me, I’m Irish!”. There was a little boy who dressed as a knight wearing a long tunic with a cross on front, and carrying a sword to represent his English heritage, another that dressed as a Native American in a buckskin vest, beaded moccasins and a colorful bandana. A sweet little girl stood next to Davin, wearing a Christmas dress trimmed with white fur. The little girl was so proud of her shiny, patent leather Mary Janes which, she said “Are just like Grandma’s shoes!” The Christmas program was unique in that the children sung Christmas songs from around the world—Germany, America, Italy, Sweden/Norway. So cute, when the children sung “Feliz Navidad”, the little girl in the flowery tunic, who had been hanging back during the entire program suddenly lost her shyness. As the piano belted out the notes, she swayed from side to side rhythmically. Her smile lit her whole face with radiance. In her smile, I felt the Spirit of Christmas was best represented—a carefree joy, a celebration, a playfulness that lightens the body to move with ease.
Designing Davin’s costume for “Christmas Around the World” was more than picking out clothing from the closet or encouraging Davin to smile really cute for the camera, it became a time to reflect on my family’s past, and an opportunity to pass some of those memories down to Davin, and to you. I jokingly told my Dad that Davin has such a diverse background that we could dress every part of his body in a different costume. Davin’s mixtures include: African-American, American Indian (Black Sioux, Bear Creek, Cherokee), German, French, Polish, Czech, Yugoslavian, Lithuanian, Norweigan and Finnish. The common thread between all of these ancestors is the land—most of our ancestors worked on or lived on farms. I also struggled because I knew the hardships, the oppression my grandparents faced working as sharecroppers. Family research—listening to the stories, seeing the places my family came from, reading historical documents—gave me a glimpse of those hardships. I often sense or feel the pain, the frustration, even fear that has lingered in our family memory. At times I have to stop my research because those feelings get so overwhelming. I strive to heal those feelings, to seek resolution for the pains of the past. Prayer has offered comforted, and a sense of release. I also feel a strong purpose in giving voice—in acknowledging my grandparents for all they have done to build the foundation of the life I now enjoy. I work to find their names, to walk the land they lived on, to ask the tough questions because when I can call my ancestors by name, I can hold them up in prayer, lift their memories up in love.
Many of my relatives chose not to talk about the past, so their lives were lost to the next generations. Or, the younger generations did not ask their elders questions about their past or family history so the knowledge was lost. Another scar on my family memory is racism. I will never forget the time I was looking through a slave census on the Internet, in neat cursive the name of each slave was written in a column. The column included the estimated age of the slave and a description of their complexion (the terms used most often are black, yellow, mulatto). I was startled to come across an entry, that clearly was a person and written next to his name was “Worthless”. My mind screamed as I read that entry—a primal scream of anguish. I wanted to take “Worthless” into my arms, and kiss his brow, and tell him I had found his shame, and would give him a new name. I imagined giving him a strong name like “Honor”, or “Isaiah” after my favorite book in the Bible, or “Kayin” an Yoruban name meaning "celebrated child". Worthless was the attitude, the injustice that the older generations of my family faced every day of their lives. In an era where racism guided social norms, Jim Crow laws kept Blacks not only segregated but perpetuated cycles of poverty and despair. Lynching and beatings were justice for Blacks who stepped out of “their place”. Black mothers gave birth to children they could not protect, children who were told where to take their first steps—and where not to; children who were often exploited for labor and denied an education. The world for these children was so much smaller—within the confines of family, church and community was the only real sense of belonging. I cannot imagine the pain, the horror, the helplessness of being a mother who has to see her children suffer in this way. So many sacrifices had to be made—children were sent to work in the fields and were denied an education, self-respect meant making yourself small and unseen in the face of torment, those who worked the hardest were denied the most. I noticed that a pattern has emerged in my family—you either found a source of strength, something to keep your spirit alive or you turned to anger and bitterness, and lost your life in the struggle. A cousin who remembers my older family members, Nile, once told me that a source of strength in my family is the church. Many of my older aunts were known for singing spirituals, and using those songs to soothe their hurts. Food has also brought family together. The simple act of cooking became a sort of ritual to bring people together. The satisfaction of a good meal became more than just feeling full in the belly but feeling full in the spirit as well. The act of cooking became a gesture of comfort in which emptiness was symbolically filled.
As I helped Davin dress this morning, I thought of how blessed I am to have so many freedoms and so many opportunities in my life, and in the lives of my children. I thought of how much better life in America has become for all people. For a moment, I closed my eyes and imagined how my ancestors would have begun their day, centuries ago…how it would feel to stretch in the morning after sleeping on a straw pallet, how the hard packed dirt floor would feel beneath my bare feet as I stood and moved towards the pot bellied stove, how the kitchen would be warmed with grits simmering in the pot, how it would feel to eat in semi-darkness knowing I would greet the first light of day while stooped over a row of cotton…. The truth is, I could imagine but never could I really comprehend; my life is too far removed from the world my ancestors lived in. I am humbled by this realization. As Davin begins to dress, I silently say a prayer of thanks. As I exhale, I imagine the shame and hurt being of the past being washed away. As I take another breath, I whisper my gratitude. Davin dressed as a farmer today—representing the very people on whose sweat, whose faith, whose dream built what America is today. Davin wore denim overalls, a plaid shirt passed down from his cousin, Elijah; a handkerchief, a straw hat with a blue star on front and black cowboy boots Mick wore as a child. In Davin’s pocket, I tucked a piece of cotton and flower, in remembrance of my ancestors, my grandparents. I watched Davin sing today, joining children from a variety of backgrounds. I watched Davin play, romping around without fear. I watched Davin walk with confidence, a twinkle in his eye. I watched Davin help “Sissie” out of bed after a nap, hold her small hand as her unsteady feet wobbled towards me. Once Jaelynn was settled in my lap, Davin stroked her hair tenderly. He left the room for a moment to return with “Bob the Builder” coloring sheets, which he was so excited to show her. I don’t take any of these acts for granted, they are small freedoms but freedoms that grant each one of us to create a life that is uniquely our own. I am living the dream that has been denied to generations of my family. In living that dream I feel a responsibility to honor the memory of those who made this life possible. Through memory, I have returned to the land of my ancestors. My children are the seeds they have turned the earth for. Though the years have been rough and tears have been shed, hope has given new life to the buds of the next generation. I may not be able to gather all the memories, but I will pass down what I know. I will pass down the hope that connects us, invisibly, one generation to the next. In this way, a garden has been planted, a land we can finally call home.
Lynn Mari, ©2005
No comments:
Post a Comment