I guess it’s because of the holiday season that my mind is on food and who’s cooking.
It’s a puzzlement to me that I can only remember one meal that my mother cooked. I recall that the meal was very special even though there was no special occasion. She was just in the mood to cook something that we had never eaten before.
This was a rare treat that I longed to have repeated, but between her migraines, moods, and messy life, there was no time for simple necessities such as cooking. And further, she didn’t like to eat. Just toast and tea for breakfast, and if she decided to eat something in the evening it would be just a bit of food and more tea. With more than a little disdain for someone who she thought was eating too much, she would say, “We’re supposed to eat to live, not live to eat.”
Though my reminisces about my mother might seem harsh and unforgiving sometimes, I believe that the migraines, moods, and messiness of her life were the result of emotional and physical abuse, as well as a life that fell far short of her potential and ambitions.
From what she told me of her very early years, it is obvious to me that she had many gifts. As early as five years of age, when she first became a babysitter, she said that she understood that she was supposed to work hard, love, and have faith in God. I believe that she tried to do this.
Being an only child of sharecroppers “way back in the woods,” as she described where they lived, she had few interactions with other children. Her companions were animals found near where she lived. Instead of a dog like children usually have, she had a pig that she loved and was devastated when it was finally slaughtered for food.
During those early years, her only playmate as she referred to him, was a boy shunned and abused by other children because of the way he looked and his inability to speak normally. When others did not know what the little boy was trying to say, she would translate for him.
From what she told me, it seems that she had an innate sense for understanding both animals and humans and a natural empathy for those who were seen as outsiders or mistreated.
My mother had many virtues and attributes that one would only know by listening to her talk about her life. When I listened to her, I always got the sense that she thought that she was never loved enough.
During this holiday season, I want to think about her and be grateful that she was my mother. I hope that some of the goodness that was innate in her has been gifted to me.
According to The Washington Post exit polls, 92% of Black women voted for Kamala Harris to be president. Other polls also indicated that more than 90% of Black women voted for Harris. While the number of Black women voting for Harris is overwhelming, it took large numbers of other women and men to generate the number of votes the candidate received. I’m especially grateful that women showed what enthusiasm and sisterhood could accomplish. All who voted for Harris should feel proud of what we accomplished.
Pride aside, no one should be surprised that those men and women who worked to get Harris elected were let down after the election. “Let down” is surely an understatement for those who pushed a boulder up a mountain higher than they thought was possible. When it came crashing back down, many dedicated Black women, in particular, felt crushed.
People react to disappointment in different ways. Some are angry and get some kind of release in blaming those who didn’t help with the nearly impossible task. Some are disillusioned and blame themselves for daring to hope when the system never changes. Some are speaking out about not participating in what they see as futile efforts in a nation that hates them and is rigged against them.
We can’t ignore the overwhelming feelings of anger and frustration after so much effort and hope has been expended toward what was an incredible goal of electing our candidate as president of the United States. Although our feelings and reactions are as varied as we are as individuals, we are similar and consistent in not succumbing to what others might see as defeat.
Like any powerful fighters, taking time to rest and regroup is natural and necessary in order to come back strong to fight another day.
Reading the November issue of the AARP Bulletin about “super agers,” people who seem to defy the common complications of aging and appear destined to live a very long life, I recalled a recent conversation with a friend I’ve known since high school. We laughed as we talked about some of the experiences we’re having as people of a certain age and generation.
We laughed and made jokes about not wanting to live as long as science predicts that super agers might live. We agreed that the most unthinkable downside of living a long life would be outliving loved ones younger than us.
Another major downside of living a long life is the specter of becoming a living, breathing, walking ghost in our own time. Having experienced the loss of friends our age, we find ourselves in communities where we have fewer and fewer peers and no matter where we are, we think we are the oldest in the room.
As we have always done, we looked for the humor in our situation. We decided that we were living ghosts because younger people don’t really see us. They know that we’re here as a presence but not really an entity with whom they should engage. They feel our ghostly presence but not as contributors to the life they’re living.
We don’t blame them for not engaging with us. We understand that they don’t seek conversations with us because they “know” that we probably can’t connect with what they’re talking about regarding their social media interests, music they’re listening to, movies that appeal to them, and the fashions that are most fun and attractive to them. They see us as old-fashioned as we saw our elders when we were young.
We laughed as we shared anecdotes that supported our understanding that we were living, breathing, walking ghosts.
I told her about an experience I had some time ago when I was thrilled to be with a young friend at a club enjoying music and conversation while people-watching. A couple of seats at our table were empty. After some time, a young couple took the seats. After a while they asked “us” if “we” had heard this music group before.
That was the opening to talk about other things that “they” had in common. I care about my young friend, so I was not upset. I was just observant. The three of them engaged in animated conversation throughout the evening, never seeming to notice that I was a living, breathing human sitting with them at this very small table.
I couldn’t believe how unaware they were that I was excluded from the conversation. I don’t think ignoring me was out of malice or even bad manners. It was just how things are.
Thankfully, the situation at the club was the most blatant demonstration of exclusion and being treated as a void that I have had.
My long-time friend and I concluded that we ought to keep these rare instances in perspective and not allow the behavioral inclinations of the young to influence our worth and self-esteem. As we reminded ourselves, we have always swum against the tide and don’t plan to stop swimming any time soon.
Posted in empathy, energy, Identity, integrity, reflection, respect, Retirement
Gwen Dungy 