Thursday, July 30, 2015
The id Post: Political Correctness, Anyone? Isn't it Just Good ...
The id Post: Political Correctness, Anyone? Isn't it Just Good ...: by Irene Daniel Political correctness seems to have taken on a negative connotation through the years. I was astounded when a contestant a...
Political Correctness, Anyone? Isn't it Just Good Manners, Really?
by Irene Daniel
Political correctness seems to have taken on a negative connotation through the years. I was astounded when a contestant at a beauty pageant was asked if political correctness was destroying our society. And I wondered what that term, "political correctness" meant to both the person asking the question and the person asked. Did it mean the same thing to them? What does it mean to you?
I'm Mexican. 2nd generation, Mexican-American. The social customs and mores of my native culture dictate a certain kind of conduct in relationship to others, chief among them simpatico and respeto. Simpatico is just what you might glean from this word's romantic root -- sympathetic, but more empathetic really. A Mexican family will practically walk over glass to ensure that you are comfortable and feel welcome in their home. It doesn't matter how big or small the casa, mi casa es su casa. A Mexican hostess would consider the evening a failure if her guests did not feel, not just welcome, but honored. Honor. That always reigns supreme in my culture. And the honor is not about ourselves, but about how we treat others.
Respeto is a whole 'nother kettle of fish. Again, it's Latin root intimates the English meaning: respect. Sure. But it's more than that. It's respect all dressed up, all the time. First and foremost, respeto is what we are trained to always give to our elders, our guests and those in position of authority over our lives, e.g., parents, teachers, law enforcement. But it is more than just respect; it is honoring those who have come before you and being open to what they have to teach you. It is a sense of fealty; something sacred. This social custom honors the passage of time, and those who have come before, who have accomplished something in their lives. Those with professional degrees and licenses are treated with great deference.
So you see, my culture instilled in me a sense of myself by the way that I treat other people from the time I was learning to walk and talk. Now I'm not saying I'm always good at this; being something of a loner. It is, however, indelibly ingrained in my DNA. I passed this on to my son by teaching him magic words: please, thank you, you're welcome, how do you do? Stuff like that. Now, I'm not saying my culture is better than any other. It's just mine, that's all. It's what I know.
So, imagine my shock at the manner in which I have been made to feel unwelcome, unwashed, and somewhat "less than" in places that boasted of welcoming me. What kind of places, you ask? Places like UCLA. Oh yes, this liberal mecca also educates, as well as hires, many an elitist. Big law firms claim to aggressively recruit "affirmative action" hires, but then insult us in our interviews by telling off-color Mexican jokes or asking us questions about traveling abroad when they know we come from a family of working stiffs and that we are on scholarship and living off of school loans. It's almost as though they want to see if we can take it, if we are tough enough to work in the piranha tank they call a prestigious law firm. They seem to have no idea how much harder we had to work, just to get to the same place, than the armies of preppies they hire every year. They have no idea how resourceful we are. Because we have to be. But, because our parents couldn't afford to take us to Europe, somehow we are considered "less than."
And let's not forget those truly unforgettable Rotary meetings (District 5300), where lynching jokes were unabashedly told from the podium at a noon luncheon meeting in the presence of about 200 community and business leaders in the Pasadena area. The joke was offered by an Annapolis grad who later, at a most convenient moment, admitted to have actually marched with Dr. Martin Luther King. And this man held himself out as a political consultant. This really happened. And that was only one of the myriad examples of a verbalized hostility to "the other," especially liberals, in this internationally renown service organization.
And this form of banter from an organization that prides itself on applying their "4-way test" to all circumstances. What is that test? Is it the truth? Is it fair to all concerned? Will it build good will and better relationships? Will it be beneficial to all concerned? Racial slurs and sexist jokes cannot pass this test, and yet they fly about their meeting rooms, even at the District level. And they wonder why they are losing 10% of their membership every year. Like the Republican party, they cannot seem to understand why certain kinds of people do not relish their company and don't want to waste the time or pay money to hang out with people who are insulting us. Would you?
These are but a few examples of what I have experienced in my life. Rudeness. Crudeness. Insensitivity. A lack of knowledge of other cultures. A lack of respect for others, especially when you are inviting them in to be a part of your group. Inviting someone to lunch and then insulting them; well, where I come from, it simply isn't done. Even the least educated child in my culture knows that you don't make fun of your guests, your elders or anyone to whom you owe respect for having gone before you.
I do not expect a conservative white male to understand everything about my culture; nor do I expect molly-coddling or ass-kissing. But I think it is reasonable to expect to be treated with just common courtesy and some modicum of respect. Why is it that the dominant American white culture insists upon an unwritten entitlement to be rude, insensitive and sometimes just plain mean to "the other"? Don't they know that their words and tone and looking down their noses at others hurts us? Shocks us? Do they enjoy observing our deer-in-the-headlights look when our sense of self-esteem is so carelessly toyed with by people who don't really know anything about us? Moreover, don't they know, or even care, how they appear to us? Do they think we do not see the ugliness of their attitude?
Words can hurt or words can heal. Why would those who boast of their "Christian nation" choose words that hurt over words that heal? The name of Washington, D.C. football team is a racial slur to Native Americans. The Confederate flag is a symbol of hatred for those who have been oppressed by slavery and it's centuries long ripple effects, which the descendants of slaves still experience to this day. The words we use when addressing one another matter.
What is it about the dominant white culture that feels disabled if they cannot feel superior to "the other"? Why are they so afraid of equality? Why would anyone choose meanness over kindness? Divisiveness over inclusion? Rudeness over courtesy? Ignorance over understanding?
What does it cost any of us to be kind to one another? If you invite someone to your home and you inadvertently and unknowingly said or did something that offended them, wouldn't you stop saying and doing that thing? Wouldn't you feel grateful to have learned something about someone else and expanded your universe and your thinking just a little?
So this is what I don't understand about the revulsion to the term "political correctness." I don't understand why some Americans choose to cling to the mistakes and limitations of the past, instead of embracing their fellow Americans and fellow human beings today, in order to create that "more perfect union," that we all envision.
Racial slurs and sexist jokes won't get us there.
Copyright 2105, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Political correctness seems to have taken on a negative connotation through the years. I was astounded when a contestant at a beauty pageant was asked if political correctness was destroying our society. And I wondered what that term, "political correctness" meant to both the person asking the question and the person asked. Did it mean the same thing to them? What does it mean to you?
I'm Mexican. 2nd generation, Mexican-American. The social customs and mores of my native culture dictate a certain kind of conduct in relationship to others, chief among them simpatico and respeto. Simpatico is just what you might glean from this word's romantic root -- sympathetic, but more empathetic really. A Mexican family will practically walk over glass to ensure that you are comfortable and feel welcome in their home. It doesn't matter how big or small the casa, mi casa es su casa. A Mexican hostess would consider the evening a failure if her guests did not feel, not just welcome, but honored. Honor. That always reigns supreme in my culture. And the honor is not about ourselves, but about how we treat others.
Respeto is a whole 'nother kettle of fish. Again, it's Latin root intimates the English meaning: respect. Sure. But it's more than that. It's respect all dressed up, all the time. First and foremost, respeto is what we are trained to always give to our elders, our guests and those in position of authority over our lives, e.g., parents, teachers, law enforcement. But it is more than just respect; it is honoring those who have come before you and being open to what they have to teach you. It is a sense of fealty; something sacred. This social custom honors the passage of time, and those who have come before, who have accomplished something in their lives. Those with professional degrees and licenses are treated with great deference.
So you see, my culture instilled in me a sense of myself by the way that I treat other people from the time I was learning to walk and talk. Now I'm not saying I'm always good at this; being something of a loner. It is, however, indelibly ingrained in my DNA. I passed this on to my son by teaching him magic words: please, thank you, you're welcome, how do you do? Stuff like that. Now, I'm not saying my culture is better than any other. It's just mine, that's all. It's what I know.
So, imagine my shock at the manner in which I have been made to feel unwelcome, unwashed, and somewhat "less than" in places that boasted of welcoming me. What kind of places, you ask? Places like UCLA. Oh yes, this liberal mecca also educates, as well as hires, many an elitist. Big law firms claim to aggressively recruit "affirmative action" hires, but then insult us in our interviews by telling off-color Mexican jokes or asking us questions about traveling abroad when they know we come from a family of working stiffs and that we are on scholarship and living off of school loans. It's almost as though they want to see if we can take it, if we are tough enough to work in the piranha tank they call a prestigious law firm. They seem to have no idea how much harder we had to work, just to get to the same place, than the armies of preppies they hire every year. They have no idea how resourceful we are. Because we have to be. But, because our parents couldn't afford to take us to Europe, somehow we are considered "less than."
And let's not forget those truly unforgettable Rotary meetings (District 5300), where lynching jokes were unabashedly told from the podium at a noon luncheon meeting in the presence of about 200 community and business leaders in the Pasadena area. The joke was offered by an Annapolis grad who later, at a most convenient moment, admitted to have actually marched with Dr. Martin Luther King. And this man held himself out as a political consultant. This really happened. And that was only one of the myriad examples of a verbalized hostility to "the other," especially liberals, in this internationally renown service organization.
And this form of banter from an organization that prides itself on applying their "4-way test" to all circumstances. What is that test? Is it the truth? Is it fair to all concerned? Will it build good will and better relationships? Will it be beneficial to all concerned? Racial slurs and sexist jokes cannot pass this test, and yet they fly about their meeting rooms, even at the District level. And they wonder why they are losing 10% of their membership every year. Like the Republican party, they cannot seem to understand why certain kinds of people do not relish their company and don't want to waste the time or pay money to hang out with people who are insulting us. Would you?
These are but a few examples of what I have experienced in my life. Rudeness. Crudeness. Insensitivity. A lack of knowledge of other cultures. A lack of respect for others, especially when you are inviting them in to be a part of your group. Inviting someone to lunch and then insulting them; well, where I come from, it simply isn't done. Even the least educated child in my culture knows that you don't make fun of your guests, your elders or anyone to whom you owe respect for having gone before you.
I do not expect a conservative white male to understand everything about my culture; nor do I expect molly-coddling or ass-kissing. But I think it is reasonable to expect to be treated with just common courtesy and some modicum of respect. Why is it that the dominant American white culture insists upon an unwritten entitlement to be rude, insensitive and sometimes just plain mean to "the other"? Don't they know that their words and tone and looking down their noses at others hurts us? Shocks us? Do they enjoy observing our deer-in-the-headlights look when our sense of self-esteem is so carelessly toyed with by people who don't really know anything about us? Moreover, don't they know, or even care, how they appear to us? Do they think we do not see the ugliness of their attitude?
Words can hurt or words can heal. Why would those who boast of their "Christian nation" choose words that hurt over words that heal? The name of Washington, D.C. football team is a racial slur to Native Americans. The Confederate flag is a symbol of hatred for those who have been oppressed by slavery and it's centuries long ripple effects, which the descendants of slaves still experience to this day. The words we use when addressing one another matter.
What is it about the dominant white culture that feels disabled if they cannot feel superior to "the other"? Why are they so afraid of equality? Why would anyone choose meanness over kindness? Divisiveness over inclusion? Rudeness over courtesy? Ignorance over understanding?
What does it cost any of us to be kind to one another? If you invite someone to your home and you inadvertently and unknowingly said or did something that offended them, wouldn't you stop saying and doing that thing? Wouldn't you feel grateful to have learned something about someone else and expanded your universe and your thinking just a little?
So this is what I don't understand about the revulsion to the term "political correctness." I don't understand why some Americans choose to cling to the mistakes and limitations of the past, instead of embracing their fellow Americans and fellow human beings today, in order to create that "more perfect union," that we all envision.
Racial slurs and sexist jokes won't get us there.
Copyright 2105, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Thursday, July 23, 2015
The id Post: CJ's Front Porch
The id Post: CJ's Front Porch: by Irene Daniel I gaze upon a mighty oak As green leaves of myriad shades Dance in the gentle sea breeze Its branches And those of ot...
CJ's Front Porch
by Irene Daniel
I gaze upon a mighty oak
As green leaves of myriad shades
Dance in the gentle sea breeze
Its branches
And those of other trees too
Sway just a little
As all the greens of mid-summer
Shimmer
There is the bright green of new life
And the deep green of a pine
All changing every second
To the whims of the Pacific wind
And the exacting revolutions
Of earth and sun
And sometimes leaves float to the ground
Some already changing color
It is quiet
It is peaceful here
On CJ's front porch
Where I sit and watch
The world go 'round
On this mid-summer afternoon
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
I gaze upon a mighty oak
As green leaves of myriad shades
Dance in the gentle sea breeze
Its branches
And those of other trees too
Sway just a little
As all the greens of mid-summer
Shimmer
There is the bright green of new life
And the deep green of a pine
All changing every second
To the whims of the Pacific wind
And the exacting revolutions
Of earth and sun
And sometimes leaves float to the ground
Some already changing color
It is quiet
It is peaceful here
On CJ's front porch
Where I sit and watch
The world go 'round
On this mid-summer afternoon
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Monday, July 13, 2015
Thursday, July 9, 2015
The id Post: The Power of a Community of Faith
The id Post: The Power of a Community of Faith: by Irene Daniel A couple of weeks ago, as we all know unless you've been living under a rock, all hell broke loose in South Carolina w...
The Power of a Community of Faith
by Irene Daniel
A couple of weeks ago, as we all know unless you've been living under a rock, all hell broke loose in South Carolina when 9 black people were murdered by a horribly misguided young white man filled with hatred and rage. The ensuing events were nearly as shocking in their compassion and faith, as was the massacre itself.
I'm speaking of course, of the powerful message of forgiveness offered to the racist murderer from the families of the slain at his arraignment hearing. It was, I believe, this jaw-dropping display of the kind of love that is beyond the capacity of mere mortals like me, more than the evil act itself, that moved this entire nation to tears, and to change. It was that act of forgiveness that has moved sons of segregationists and descendants of Jefferson Davis to proclaim from the floors of both houses of the South Carolina legislature, a resounding and emotional condemnation of the Confederate flag as a symbol of hatred.
Whatever you believe, or don't believe, about race relations in this country, or how you feel about President Obama and/or his eulogy for South Carolina State Senator Clemente Pinckney, I think that we can all agree that the Spiritual energy on display and in practice at the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church on that day was a most powerful message of love. As I watched the service in the comfort of my living room, I was deeply moved and inspired by what I was witnessing. And I said to myself, "I want that."
I want that capacity to love. I want that ability to forgive. I want that courage to surrender to an abiding faith. And I want that openness to give and receive love without fear. I want that. And I know where to go to get it. It really doesn't require superior critical thinking skills to plainly see that the source of all that loving and forgiveness was an abiding faith. And that faith was born of the powerful fellowship of the strong and consistent faith powerfully practiced at the Emanuel AME church.
I like to call myself a Catholic Taoist. While I have always had issues with the faith of my childhood; with its treatment of women, as well as its legion excesses and abuses of privilege throughout its long history, somehow I keep coming back to it, no matter where I am. At certain difficult times in my life I even attended daily masses, and used to read scripture daily in accordance with the liturgical calendar. And now that I am back in my hometown, I have the privilege to attend the little church where I made my First Holy Communion. My Catholic faith is something I simply can't seem to escape, and to which I have finally surrendered. I can't explain it really, it just is. The Taoist part of my soul is the yin to my Catholic yang, and helps me to see the Oneness of all things.
I have been Spiritually ill lately. My soul died last year. In March I buried it so deep that only a series of miracles could unearth it, and permit the light to shine through it again. I stopped praying, which I used to do every day, and I stopped going to mass. I hated everything, especially God.
And then, on Easter week-end as fate would have it, I began to wake up a little. On Good Friday, I realized that I really did love myself and the life that I was living, even though the challenges I was facing still seemed insurmountable. On Easter Sunday I attended mass with one of my dearest friends, whose faith has been an example to me for over 50 years. I truly felt like a new creation, and still do every day. In the ensuing months, I have experienced a number of miracles, big and small, which enabled me to completely surrender my soul to God, the Universe, the Tao -- whatever you want to call that undeniable Spiritual energy that is the metaphysical truth of our universe.
Lately, when I attend mass I am much more vested in the service. I participate fully in the traditions and rituals. I don't have to be in alignment with everything the priest says and does, I just have to show up and be all in. And in so doing, I am able to experience a greater sense of peace, Christ's Peace. And I am better able to engage with my fellows, instead of isolating in suffering. I am able to appreciate the beauty of the world and the love that is all around me. I am better able to appreciate how totally this very community embraced and cared for me, even when I shunned all things Spiritual and hated God.
But I'm just getting started. If I want to be able to forgive more readily, to be more patient and kind with others as well as myself, if I want to experience the freedom that only peace of mind can give, then I need to keep showing up the Church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Florence, AZ. For I know that I am still a long way from being able to forgive a hurt within a 72 hour period of time, even a small one, much less the murder of a loved one. My recent acts of forgiveness for hurts big and small pale in comparison to that which we witnessed in South Carolina. I will have to work and pray in order to build up my Spiritual muscle before I can be that kind of example for anyone.
But now I know I want it because I have witnessed the power of forgiveness and faith. I have seen and heard the results of human beings spending a lifetime in faith and working up their Spiritual muscle week by week, month by month and year by year, surrounded and supported by their own community of faith. That kind of grace doesn't manifest overnight. It takes time, effort and complete free-falling surrender to cultivate the Spiritual empowerment that enables the forgiveness of murderers within days of the killing.
I want that. And I know where I can get it. And I especially know now that I cannot get there by myself. Thank you to empowering communities of faith, of all creeds and denominations, everywhere that enables us to see past this human foil in order to embrace our highest selves. Thank you. I want that; I want what you have. I want that.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
A couple of weeks ago, as we all know unless you've been living under a rock, all hell broke loose in South Carolina when 9 black people were murdered by a horribly misguided young white man filled with hatred and rage. The ensuing events were nearly as shocking in their compassion and faith, as was the massacre itself.
I'm speaking of course, of the powerful message of forgiveness offered to the racist murderer from the families of the slain at his arraignment hearing. It was, I believe, this jaw-dropping display of the kind of love that is beyond the capacity of mere mortals like me, more than the evil act itself, that moved this entire nation to tears, and to change. It was that act of forgiveness that has moved sons of segregationists and descendants of Jefferson Davis to proclaim from the floors of both houses of the South Carolina legislature, a resounding and emotional condemnation of the Confederate flag as a symbol of hatred.
Whatever you believe, or don't believe, about race relations in this country, or how you feel about President Obama and/or his eulogy for South Carolina State Senator Clemente Pinckney, I think that we can all agree that the Spiritual energy on display and in practice at the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church on that day was a most powerful message of love. As I watched the service in the comfort of my living room, I was deeply moved and inspired by what I was witnessing. And I said to myself, "I want that."
I want that capacity to love. I want that ability to forgive. I want that courage to surrender to an abiding faith. And I want that openness to give and receive love without fear. I want that. And I know where to go to get it. It really doesn't require superior critical thinking skills to plainly see that the source of all that loving and forgiveness was an abiding faith. And that faith was born of the powerful fellowship of the strong and consistent faith powerfully practiced at the Emanuel AME church.
I like to call myself a Catholic Taoist. While I have always had issues with the faith of my childhood; with its treatment of women, as well as its legion excesses and abuses of privilege throughout its long history, somehow I keep coming back to it, no matter where I am. At certain difficult times in my life I even attended daily masses, and used to read scripture daily in accordance with the liturgical calendar. And now that I am back in my hometown, I have the privilege to attend the little church where I made my First Holy Communion. My Catholic faith is something I simply can't seem to escape, and to which I have finally surrendered. I can't explain it really, it just is. The Taoist part of my soul is the yin to my Catholic yang, and helps me to see the Oneness of all things.
I have been Spiritually ill lately. My soul died last year. In March I buried it so deep that only a series of miracles could unearth it, and permit the light to shine through it again. I stopped praying, which I used to do every day, and I stopped going to mass. I hated everything, especially God.
And then, on Easter week-end as fate would have it, I began to wake up a little. On Good Friday, I realized that I really did love myself and the life that I was living, even though the challenges I was facing still seemed insurmountable. On Easter Sunday I attended mass with one of my dearest friends, whose faith has been an example to me for over 50 years. I truly felt like a new creation, and still do every day. In the ensuing months, I have experienced a number of miracles, big and small, which enabled me to completely surrender my soul to God, the Universe, the Tao -- whatever you want to call that undeniable Spiritual energy that is the metaphysical truth of our universe.
Lately, when I attend mass I am much more vested in the service. I participate fully in the traditions and rituals. I don't have to be in alignment with everything the priest says and does, I just have to show up and be all in. And in so doing, I am able to experience a greater sense of peace, Christ's Peace. And I am better able to engage with my fellows, instead of isolating in suffering. I am able to appreciate the beauty of the world and the love that is all around me. I am better able to appreciate how totally this very community embraced and cared for me, even when I shunned all things Spiritual and hated God.
But I'm just getting started. If I want to be able to forgive more readily, to be more patient and kind with others as well as myself, if I want to experience the freedom that only peace of mind can give, then I need to keep showing up the Church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Florence, AZ. For I know that I am still a long way from being able to forgive a hurt within a 72 hour period of time, even a small one, much less the murder of a loved one. My recent acts of forgiveness for hurts big and small pale in comparison to that which we witnessed in South Carolina. I will have to work and pray in order to build up my Spiritual muscle before I can be that kind of example for anyone.
But now I know I want it because I have witnessed the power of forgiveness and faith. I have seen and heard the results of human beings spending a lifetime in faith and working up their Spiritual muscle week by week, month by month and year by year, surrounded and supported by their own community of faith. That kind of grace doesn't manifest overnight. It takes time, effort and complete free-falling surrender to cultivate the Spiritual empowerment that enables the forgiveness of murderers within days of the killing.
I want that. And I know where I can get it. And I especially know now that I cannot get there by myself. Thank you to empowering communities of faith, of all creeds and denominations, everywhere that enables us to see past this human foil in order to embrace our highest selves. Thank you. I want that; I want what you have. I want that.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Thursday, July 2, 2015
The id Post: Happy Birthday Letter to My Mom, My Civil Rights S...
The id Post: Happy Birthday Letter to My Mom, My Civil Rights S...: by Irene Daniel HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM!! I miss you. As I honor the 90th anniversary of your birth this 4th of July, I have much good news ...
Happy Birthday Letter to My Mom, My Civil Rights SHero!
by Irene Daniel
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM!! I miss you.
As I honor the 90th anniversary of your birth this 4th of July, I have much good news to report on the progress of our great nation. The Confederate flag is coming down in the American south. Can you believe it, Mom? I wish you had been here with me to watch it on TV, the way we always experienced major historical and political events in our home. I was here in our humble abode, the house I grew up in, watching events unfold just like we always did. I imagined you dancing for joy in that cute little dance you used to do.
I suppose having been born and raised in a segregated Ajo, Arizona, the thought of others experiencing all that ugly "otherness" was just too much for you to bear silently, or without taking notice of the changes being made. You never forgot how much it hurt to have to put up with someone telling you that you are "less than" another, just for being Mexican. It must have made celebrating your birthday a little bittersweet, sharing it with a nation that you honored, but didn't honor you in the same way.
I remember how our entire family gathered around the TV to witness Bloody Sunday, and to listen to the speeches of Presidents Kennedy and Johnson, as well as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in real time during the 1960s. I remember watching JFK and LBJ proclaim the moral abhorrence of treating people differently based upon the color of their skin. I remember you emoting at the television: outrage for segregationists, inspiration at Civil Rights oratory, sobs of sorrow at assassinations, as well as tears of joy at the passage of each Civil Rights Bill in Congress. Maybe that's why I felt so compelled to go to law school. In more ways than one, you made me who and what I am.
And speaking of great oratory, you would have loved the impassioned call to action of our President Obama as he delivered, yet another, eulogy for, yet another, slain martyr for Civil Rights -- 21st century style. It was one of the best speeches I have ever heard, and certainly the best Obama's ever given. It was a sermon. It was Kennedy and King in a new suit, in a new space, in a new -- and much improved -- America from that Ajo of long ago. I pictured you crying tears of joy with me.
And then just last week, Mom, the United States Supreme Court ruled that marriage equality will be the law of the land from this day forward. I am so proud of the way that you evolved on this issue so long ago, and how happy you were at every victory for LGBT rights in the last decades of your life. I am so proud of you, Mom. I am so happy to be your only daughter.
I will always cherish the way you told the story of my birth, of how all your comadres were praying for a girl for you after two boys, because they all knew how much you wanted one. And then the satisfaction when I was delivered by Dr. Tucker, and he said, "There's your girl." I'll always be your girl, Mom. Always. Thank you for loving and praying me into existence.
And thank you for the way that you left this world with dignity, and at peace with your girl. I'm so grateful for the many conversations we had in those weeks before your transition. I remember how desperately I needed your forgiveness and when I asked you for it, you only said, "There is nothing to forgive." This example of grace means more to me now than I even realized at the time. And it really meant a lot then.
I am grateful for the honor of witnessing the last breath you took, hearing the last words you spoke, and watching you drift away, to be received into the arms of our blessed Savior, and reunited with your beloved first-born. I miss you and Gilbert so much these days. You would both be dancing with joy at the manifestation of an America that is now becoming the one of which you both always dreamed.
And so, on Saturday, I will play two songs for you on my piano: "Going Home," to honor your transition; and "Happy Birthday" to celebrate your great life. I will imagine you dancing as I play, just like you used to do. I am listening to 1960s music as I write this, with tears of gratitude streaming down my cheeks. You are worth every single one of them, Mamacita mia.
Happy Birthday, Mom. I miss you.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, All rights reserved.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM!! I miss you.
As I honor the 90th anniversary of your birth this 4th of July, I have much good news to report on the progress of our great nation. The Confederate flag is coming down in the American south. Can you believe it, Mom? I wish you had been here with me to watch it on TV, the way we always experienced major historical and political events in our home. I was here in our humble abode, the house I grew up in, watching events unfold just like we always did. I imagined you dancing for joy in that cute little dance you used to do.
I suppose having been born and raised in a segregated Ajo, Arizona, the thought of others experiencing all that ugly "otherness" was just too much for you to bear silently, or without taking notice of the changes being made. You never forgot how much it hurt to have to put up with someone telling you that you are "less than" another, just for being Mexican. It must have made celebrating your birthday a little bittersweet, sharing it with a nation that you honored, but didn't honor you in the same way.
I remember how our entire family gathered around the TV to witness Bloody Sunday, and to listen to the speeches of Presidents Kennedy and Johnson, as well as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in real time during the 1960s. I remember watching JFK and LBJ proclaim the moral abhorrence of treating people differently based upon the color of their skin. I remember you emoting at the television: outrage for segregationists, inspiration at Civil Rights oratory, sobs of sorrow at assassinations, as well as tears of joy at the passage of each Civil Rights Bill in Congress. Maybe that's why I felt so compelled to go to law school. In more ways than one, you made me who and what I am.
And speaking of great oratory, you would have loved the impassioned call to action of our President Obama as he delivered, yet another, eulogy for, yet another, slain martyr for Civil Rights -- 21st century style. It was one of the best speeches I have ever heard, and certainly the best Obama's ever given. It was a sermon. It was Kennedy and King in a new suit, in a new space, in a new -- and much improved -- America from that Ajo of long ago. I pictured you crying tears of joy with me.
And then just last week, Mom, the United States Supreme Court ruled that marriage equality will be the law of the land from this day forward. I am so proud of the way that you evolved on this issue so long ago, and how happy you were at every victory for LGBT rights in the last decades of your life. I am so proud of you, Mom. I am so happy to be your only daughter.
I will always cherish the way you told the story of my birth, of how all your comadres were praying for a girl for you after two boys, because they all knew how much you wanted one. And then the satisfaction when I was delivered by Dr. Tucker, and he said, "There's your girl." I'll always be your girl, Mom. Always. Thank you for loving and praying me into existence.
And thank you for the way that you left this world with dignity, and at peace with your girl. I'm so grateful for the many conversations we had in those weeks before your transition. I remember how desperately I needed your forgiveness and when I asked you for it, you only said, "There is nothing to forgive." This example of grace means more to me now than I even realized at the time. And it really meant a lot then.
I am grateful for the honor of witnessing the last breath you took, hearing the last words you spoke, and watching you drift away, to be received into the arms of our blessed Savior, and reunited with your beloved first-born. I miss you and Gilbert so much these days. You would both be dancing with joy at the manifestation of an America that is now becoming the one of which you both always dreamed.
And so, on Saturday, I will play two songs for you on my piano: "Going Home," to honor your transition; and "Happy Birthday" to celebrate your great life. I will imagine you dancing as I play, just like you used to do. I am listening to 1960s music as I write this, with tears of gratitude streaming down my cheeks. You are worth every single one of them, Mamacita mia.
Happy Birthday, Mom. I miss you.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, All rights reserved.
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