Thank you for your Service!

There is a reputable grocery chain that has numerous stores and grocery distribution centers, in 8 states. I probably know more about this chain than the average person because my husband is a professional driver with them. 

I have had the pleasure of attending banquets where the insider information is shared and the drivers, the heartbeat of the company, are celebrated. Last year, my husband was a nominee for “driver of the year.” I left that banquet with a lovely little envelope that he promptly handed me after he was gifted. 

Most people would agree that there is only one other grocery chain that might be considered its rival. Both chains have delightful ambiances, and the service is stellar. I think we have them beat now that we have "select" bar service. Yes, you can grab a glass of wine prior to (or after) grocery shopping. I love it! Naturally, I only shop at the one that puts money in our pocket. As an entrepreneur, I understand how vital it is to support what supports you. 

Another feature that always puts a smile on my face is their "reserved veteran" parking slots. I always pull in proudly and hop out of the car. On a few occasions, I have gotten the impression that passersby doubted I ever served in the military. I shrug it off and head into the store. 

A week ago, my cousin came to visit from Pennsylvania. I was really excited about seeing her, even though she really came to hang out with my daughter. 

At some point, we went to the store. As I pulled into the reserved stall, I said out loud, "Every time I pull into this spot, I feel judged or as if people doubt that I served.” Then, we all jumped out of the car laughing at something else (who knows what) and continued enjoying each other's company.

At first, I didn't notice the big, black truck that was parked behind my car. I didn't realize that a Caucasian gentleman was asking me a question. I didn't know that my service in the military was actually being challenged. 

When I recognized what was going on, I could hear my daughter saying, "No sir, no....you are not going to do that to my mother!" At the same time, I was asking him to repeat his question. He did so quite willingly. "What branch of service were you in?" The snarl on his face was evident. He looked like the cat who had swallowed the canary. You know that "I gotcha look" of someone who is so sure that they caught you with your hand in the cookie jar?  

I was so stunned, so pissed off, and so shocked that I found myself asking him, rhetorically, "what? - what did you say?"  Before he could answer, I was moving toward his vehicle. I have no idea what I was going to say or what I was going to do. I just knew that I needed some space and opportunity, and I was sure the rest of it would work itself out.

My daughter, who has a much cooler head, literally put her elbow and forearm into my chest and said, "No, mommy back up.......etc."—all the while, letting the gentleman know he needed to move on. 

When he realized, based on how passionately we were dealing with things, that I must have served in the United States Military, he tried to clean it up by saying he was just curious where I served. He was lying.  

When you approach a known veteran, one of the first things you say is, "Thank you for your service." I have had it happen to me more times than I can count. I have humbly said it to others. My father and I say it to each other every year on Veteran's Day. He was lying.

I am not sure what about me said I couldn't possibly be a veteran. Was it my laughter wafting from the car? My beautiful melanin magic? My gender? My African styled head wrap? Perhaps it was all of these things bundled up together.

That entire episode could not have lasted more than 45 seconds, but it really broke my heart. I tried hard not to let it show in front of my daughter and my cousin. The sadness settled in my spirit, rumbled around, and now, it is here on paper. 

My daughter, who is always bossy but never aggressive, told me later that she didn’t want me to approach his vehicle because she saw a rack and thought he may have a rifle. Really?

I suppose she is right. Anything is possible. How many other people of color have been shot for less?

As Donald Glover so eloquently penned, “This is America” – and even though we picked their cotton and nursed their children, no one appreciates our service.

Legacy

Recently I texted my adult children and requested that they participate in a video chat. I didn't share the topic (the oldest child shared with me later that this caused a tad bit of anxiety) but they understood that it was mandatory. 

 

Once we were connected, I talked with them about my expectations for how they should conduct themselves when it comes to handling mine and Cleveland's affairs. I was specific about why I was leaving certain items to whom and the fact that the oldest is the executor of our will. I went on to explain that I expect for all decisions to be made jointly other than what we have specifically spelled out. We laughed about some of the choices I made and at one point, my son said, "You know I am gonna let them do whatever they want, Ma.” And I believe it. 

 

None of this was the real reason for the call. 

 

I told them how much respect I have for them as adults and that in their roles as parents, they would begin to create (if they haven't already) their own family traditions. Would I love for them to abstain from Halloween and teaching the fallacy that bunny rabbits lay eggs? Absolutely! But I refuse to challenge them or their spouse’s decision-making skills. My children have always sought my advice when they deemed it necessary, and I trust that this will continue. As a matter of fact, when I want to talk with them privately about something serious, I always ask their permission. This bears repeating. I respect them as my adult children.   

 

As I was speaking to them, my grandson was in the living room working on a puzzle. He was the reason I initiated the contact. His name is Amari Jordan White, and he's 9 years old. He announces his name very proudly when he introduces himself to others, and it is quickly followed by, "but you can call me A.J. for short.”

 

He's smart. He is in the gifted and talented program at school (given an opportunity, he will announce this also), and he is an extremely logical thinker. He is also very well-mannered. With the exception of the need to brag, he has my son's intellect and personality. 

 

In a few short days, Amari and I covered many topics. We talked about HBCU's. What a fraternity is. Being bullied in school and the after-affects. We also chatted about this insane idea he had about not displaying his brain power so that he won't be selected to skip a grade. This, of course, led to me explaining the term "dumbing down" and suggesting that he speak to his parents about his fear of being too small for the next grade.  

 

Ultimately, we landed on his favorite pastime. For several months, I have been well aware that my grandson is addicted to a game called Fortnite. I will not begin to bore you with why/how he is allowed to spend so much time playing the game, nor am I going to tell you the extreme measures he has taken in order to play. I am not even going to tell you about the strangers he has met while playing and how they have contacted him. I will say that my concern about all of this was the reason for the video conference.

 

I wanted my children to know that although I will not be invasive about how they rear their children, I do want them to consider what is on the table. The legacy of what my parents taught that their parents taught that their parents—well, you get the picture.

 

The morals, ethical values, respect for others, hard work, the bond of your word, and our love for God. These are not optional. The going in earlier, staying later, and working harder. These are not optional. A firm handshake (whether you are a male or a female) while looking the other person in the eye, the ability to apologize, and your commitment to those who are down-trodden. These are not optional. The immense dedication to your siblings above all others. This is not optional. 

 

For the last 10 days, Amari has spent time with me, Cleveland (who he affectionately calls Pop-Pop), his Aunt Sassy (and her husband), and his Aunt Sissy. He has been to two museums, played tennis 4 times, put together a 100-piece puzzle, worked on some art projects, swam several times, rode on Pop-Pop's motorcycle, and baked some chocolate chip cookies.

 

It is my hope that as an adult, he will look back on these summer visits and think of them fondly. No video games and no mobile devices. Just a family of loved ones looking to continue the legacy.

Be Still My Heart

I am always moving, talking, doing, cleaning, cooking, exploring - you get the picture? I am a self-proclaimed busybody. I get things done. You can count on me. I start what I finish. I mean, the best kind of mover and shaker. At least that is what I have always told myself.

Have I ever heard complaints about my inability to chill? Sure. But why take them seriously? As a matter of fact, I don't understand people who lounge around all day and relax. What is that about? There is so much to be done and I have always said, "I will rest when I'm dead.” My sister attributed a famous Army slogan to me many years ago. "I do more before 8 o'clock than most people do all day!" I thought it was a compliment.

So imagine my resistance to my therapist asking me to meditate for 30 minutes twice a week. I thought to myself, "Is she crazy?" Then, I said out loud, "Uh, that is a really long time. Do you think we could start small?" She agreed, and so my assignment was to do 15 minutes, twice a week. That was over 8 weeks ago. Guess how many times I have done it. Once. And it was painful.

My mother said I have been this way all of my life. Always talking and moving and attempting to do something. It is who I am. My husband often says, very graciously, "That is how you are wired". My daughter, Jasmine, says that I have a lot of little people that live in my head, and they are constantly telling me things. I believe they have resigned themselves to the fact that this is just who I am. What I have discovered is that who I am can always be improved upon. However COMMA this one is a real challenge.

Every time I think about attempting the exercise, my mind starts to come up with all the things I could be doing in that 15-30 minute window. All the things that I could accomplish and cross off my list.

I shared in my December blog that one of the reasons that I sought out therapy was for mental self-improvement. I am often impulsive and rash. I oft times say things that I wish I could take back. If you know me, this is where you are either nodding your head in agreement or you laughed. It's cool—I can take it. I am working on it. Or am I?

The assignment is supposed to help me be more mindful. My oldest daughter, who is the Membership Director for the Girls Scouts of America, shared that they teach their girls the same thing, but they use a different word: “Thoughtful.” That hurt.

At my core, I am an extremely considerate person. I want the legacy of my life to reflect my genuine love and appreciation for others. If my affection is overshadowed by my inability to be still and focus, then there is a conflict that needs a resolution.

So here is the real deal. This is a matter of discipline and self-control. Being able to sit quietly and not consciously go through a mental laundry list of ideas and activities is a valuable tool that I need if I plan to master my impulses. For far too long, I have treated them as if I have some amazing gift that everyone else is lacking.

The heart is the very center of our being. It commonly refers to the mind as the center of thinking and reason, but also includes the emotions, the will, and thus the whole inner being. The heart is the depository of all wisdom and the source of whatever affects speech, sight, and conduct. Proverbs 4:23 puts it like this: Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life.

I have to work on my heart health. And that all starts with the practice of sitting still. As I wrap up this blog, I sit here with two of the tools that I need to become proficient. A blank journal I purchased (about the same time my therapist gave me the assignment) and a made up mind.