Ghost of Christmas Past

When I talk about my childhood I leave six years out of the loop. It is incredibly rare for me to address those years, to think about them even.
There is a good chunk of the time I am able to completely forget they happened.
But today, oh today, I made the mistake of looking at Officer Norman’s Instagram account. They had their Season of Giving event. It is where the police department, businesses and people from the community come together to give to people who don’t have a lot. Materialistically speaking.
I fully admit it took me a while to stop crying, from the touching videos of excited children, grateful parents and people who were handing out presents, watching them receive their blessings in the form of humility.
It is humbling to witness that type of poverty up close, the majority of us are so insulated from that severity of poverty.
Part of me wishes I could say I’ve never experienced it, but that would be a lie. From the time I was 5 until I was 12 I lived in a neighborhood very much like the one in North Little Rock.
I lived in Oklahoma City, in one of the poorest areas of the city, I went to Wheeler Elementary School. I have incredibly fond memories of my teachers and the principle of the school.
The memory that sticks with me the most, that impacted my life the most was the Christmas I was in the 2nd grade.
It sticks out because we had a Christmas program and the firemen came. They had their trucks, they pulled their ladders out and they even had one of the trucks that had the basket on it. That is what Santa came to our school in. It was so exciting and amazing, they brought presents for all of us in the school and Santa gave each one of us a candy cane.
It sticks out so much because that year, the only Christmas present I got was the one the firemen brought to our school.
When I watched the videos of the excited children and grateful parents that Christmas came rushing back.
It has impacted the way I have treated Christmas for my children all of their lives. I want them to have amazing Christmases with presents galore, even at this stage of their lives.
I want them to feel that they matter, that someone loves them, that they are the most important person to someone.
I am incredibly blessed that I was adopted by my parents and taken to Owasso later on. But I’ll always remember that Christmas, the one that if it hadn’t been for people in the community I would have had nothing. I now realize, as an adult, that there were many children in that community that were like me. That was their only Christmas present.
I know what some are thinking, presents don’t make Christmas, but when you are a child it does. When you are a child that has to go without a lot of things year round, Christmas matters. A simple gift matters.
What brought it all rushing back was a specific video that Officer Norman posted. A twelve-year-old girl, Tashanti, teared up, telling Officer Norman that it was like someone cared what happens to her, to others in her neighborhood.
I am going to post it, for those of you who have never had to live in that type of poverty, this might give you some idea of what that toy you donate might do for them.
When a child feels like someone in the world cares about what happens to them it makes a world of difference in their world. It gives them hope and also gives them the strength to face the rest of the year. The rest of the year where they go without certain things their parents can’t afford.
God Bless everyone that gives to things like this, God Bless those that receive those blessings.
Here is the video that moved me so much:
http://www.thv11.com/news/local/ofc-norman-nlrpd-spreads-christmas-cheer-to-community-with-presents/371950317

The video of Tashanti is the last one in the article.

Humans

I saw something, for once not on Facebook, it struck me, the person said that the five slain officers were overshadowing the civilian deaths that had recently taken place.
I admit I sat there for a long time just looking at it, the words, the sheer audacity, the sheer non-understanding of why these five deaths are resonating with the nation. No, the world, they ran into the line of fire to save the people protesting them. How does that not express the profound meaning that their lives had? That their deaths have? They ran towards gun-fire to save people who protested them.
I have seen a lot of things recently spouting “race” as if ones’ race is based on skin tone. It’s not, we are the human race, created in God’s image. He did not create different humans with different skin tones, He didn’t say “you know what, I’m going to separate these people I have created by color”. He didn’t color code us. He created man in his own image and saw it was good.
Good. We were created good, prejudice is not inherent, it is learned. I was taught all of my life to judge a person by the content of their character not by the outward appearance. A hard lesson for me, oh, not by skin tone, apparel. I judged by what a person wore, their hair style, shoes, oh my, yes the shoes. My poor mother, she really had her work cut out for her with that one. I remember one Sunday, in Owasso, OK at the First Freewill Baptist Church, a woman came in with jeans.
WHAT!? This had to be 1979 or around there, I was aghast, one simply did not do that in 1979. As soon as we got in the car to go home I just could not contain myself. The judgements flew out of my mouth at a rapid rate. I could not believe someone, much less a woman, would come to church in jeans.
I’ll never forget the look on my mothers’ face, it wasn’t anger, it was sadness and disappointment. She looked at me for a long time and said Angie show me in the bible where it says don’t come to church in jeans. Or for that fact where it says all ye women come in a dress.
I sat there in that back seat and just stared, then I said well you won’t let me do it, she said no, I won’t. Here’s why, when we go to God’s house we wear our best, that’s why it’s called our Sunday best. You are very fortunate that your Sunday best is stylish, nice, pressed and what we, as your parents, deem appropriate.
Not everyone has those kinds of garments, did you ever once, in the middle of your judgement think that the jeans were her Sunday best? Those are the best jeans she owns, they are clean, no holes and fit, her shirt was nice, clean, pressed and she was presentable. She was dressed in her Sunday best and here you sit, judging her. I never forgot that, disappointing my mom it was up there with disappointing God. I learned a strong lesson that day, it is one, I admit, I still struggle with.
To judge a person by something they cannot control is idiocy, people cannot control the color of their skin. The pigment they are born with, it is who they are, that is not something we should be judging on.
No matter what color your skin is, if it is white, peach, ghostly white (Irishman shout out there), brown, light brown, dark brown, black, olive (Tammi shout out there), tan, red, yellow or any other color that can be found in a child’s Crayola box, one should not be judged for it.
Before my life in Owasso, the one I don’t talk about too much, I lived in Oklahoma City, as a matter of fact, I lived in a really tough neighborhood. Capitol Hill, if you are from there, then you know, it’s rough. Or it was when I was a kid.
In the 1970’s Oklahoma began desegregating, I know, 10 years behind everyone else.
There was a good mixture of skin tones in my elementary school, we had everyone, white, black, brown, red, everyone. You know what, no fights based on skin color, I did have a fight with a boy named Kevin, he was my skin tone. He made me mad and I hit him with my lunch box. My metal, partridge family with the thermos in, lunch box. Mr. Jackson was our principal and I went to see him fairly often, only once did he call my grandparents. Never anyone else.
Did I mention he was black? A lot of my teachers were as well, I never thought anything about it. Skin color was never mentioned and as children no one cared. At all. There was one incident, but I really can’t talk about it here and it’s not “race” related it was more an explanation gone wrong issue. And yes, it had to do with me.
When I got to Middle School, Capitol Hill Middle School, things had changed, it was not an equal mixture of skin tones, it was roughly 75% black, 15% white and the rest Indian, I am using these terms due to the fact that is what we used then. Please take them in context to the time frame.
In middle school, still no issues, no one made any reference to skin color, a lot of classes, as I look back, I realize I was the only one in there that had a pale appearance. No one held it against me, I wasn’t called names. I was confused when I watched the nightly news, as it was talking about “race” riots, minorities and things of that nature. In my school, I was the minority, so I really didn’t understand.
Then I moved to a different part of Oklahoma City and started going to Jefferson Middle School, way different demographic, back to more of an equal balance of skin tones. Here is the funny story from there, I saw my friend Paulette from CHMS and we were thrilled to see each other. I said I didn’t know you guys were going to go here! She had a twin brother named Paul. She said yes, her mom and dad wanted to get out of the old neighborhood. She then said, and I’ll never forget it, there were too many black people there. I looked at her for a minute and said Paulette, you know your black right? She laughed and said that is what she said to her mom and dad. She said she really never got an explanation for that one.
Oh and before you think oh they must have been too light skinned for “the community” at that time. Not the case, her family was very proud of the fact that they were pure, no Indian and no White. I didn’t know what that meant until later, all I knew was Paulette and I were friends, her family welcomed me into their home and mine welcomed her into ours.
Then the move to Owasso, now, I have to tell you, Owasso was a shock to my system, a huge shock, on so many levels. Gone were the museums, the symphony, no orchestra at school, I was so depressed about moving I didn’t want to join the basketball team, I had played in OKC, I didn’t want to join the band, seriously, I was a cello player. No cellos in Owasso at that time, also, not a lot of people that didn’t look like me.
I remember the first day of school there, my BFF Tammi and I went, we took the bus, spent all day going from class to class. Then after school, we waited for our bus, I couldn’t take it anymore, I whispered what did they do with the black people, she said I don’t know, but don’t say anything because they might do away with us. Tammi came from Tulsa, huge diversity there as well.
Owasso is much more diverse now, however it wasn’t then, and it was a shock to my system.
But I still was being raised in a household where you did not judge based on outer appearances, especially based on something you cannot change.
Something has to give in this country, if you are judging me based on my pigmentation then you are prejudice, if someone is judging you based on your pigmentation they are prejudice.
I am a regionalist, I admit that, I judge on what region of the country you are from. I states, well, I am not overly fond of I states. I am not going to say what those are here, as I would get hate mail. Just know, that the job I have, I get to see how people behave when they think they can get away with speaking to humans any kind of way. I think we all know what that means.
Every day, I work side by side with people who do not look like me, we all get along, we all joke with one another, help one another and share knowledge and experience. We don’t base our opinion of someone’s ability to do their job based on the pigmentation of their skin.
We are one race, we are the human race, God made one race, humans, until the aliens come, and they totally are, but for now, on this big blue marble, we are it. Human. We might come in different colors, different shapes, sizes and have different thought processes, but we are all one. And if you are a Christian or even Jewish, then we are all descendants of Adam and Eve. We are brothers and sisters; we all need to remember that.
I do not judge a situation based on a snippet of a video someone took with their phone, from an angle that doesn’t show everything that happened. I do believe that the media and politicians and people who are in power want to keep everything stirred up. They want to keep humans fighting over pigmentation.
Just stop, stop and take a good long look at what the people in power don’t want you to see. Take time out to forge friendships with people of differences. Physical, emotional, intelligence and personality, those differences in us make the whole.
I’ll leave you with the words of Downtown Julie Brown, peace, love and gossip.
As always, if you have any comments or questions you can direct them to angie@angieworld.com

What I Gave Up

So, on Facebook, where we all know the good information is at, I read a post from a fellow Owassoan that made me think. He said that he met a man who lives in Owasso now and the man corrected him on the pronunciation of Owasso. You see there are two ways to pronounce it, if you are from Owasso, it is Owassuh, if you are not, it is Owasso. There is a distinction, my fellow Owassoan let him know, you might live there but you are not from there.

He was right, even though I did not live there from birth, I am from there, I claim it as my hometown. I hope the natives don’t mind that I claim the city for my hometown; it is where I came of age, where I learned many life lessons and where I finally had real parents.

I talk a lot about what Owasso gave me, I don’t really talk about what I gave up to gain all of the friendships, knowledge, parents, church home and life lessons. I gave up living in a city I loved; I gave up being in the Orchestra, being on the basketball team, the volleyball team and track. I gave up my cousins, all of them; I gave up my grandmother and great Aunt Effie, my aunts and uncles.

I know what you are thinking; I could have had many of those things in Owasso, yes to the sports, no to the music. There was no orchestra in the Owasso school system; I was so depressed I didn’t want to entertain the thought of joining the band. Even though I could play the clarinet, having also been in band in the City. For the first year I was there I was seriously depressed, I had one friend, and everyone in the school had been together since kindergarten. For the first time in my life I was an outsider, looking in, not really belonging, my parents, God bless them, took me back to the City almost every weekend for the first year. Oh, BTW, the City is what all native Oklahomans call Oklahoma City. So for the first year I went back there almost every weekend, to see my grandmother and great Aunt Effie and reconnect with friends.

Then something happened, I was in the library, in the 9th grade and I saw one of my classmates, not someone I knew well, still only had one friend, Tammi, but I said hi. He said hi, then asked me what I was doing that weekend, (not because he liked me, he was making small talk) before I could open my mouth he looked at me disdainfully and said let me guess, going to the City. I just nodded; I didn’t know anyone knew my business. He then said the words I will never forget, you’re missing it, you’re missing everything there is to do here, you’re missing out on freindships and life. Owasso is fun and you are not part of it, but you could be if you would quit running back to the City every chance you get.

That stopped me cold, I had serious thinking to do, I made a decision, I stopped going to the City all the time, started going to football games and the Skate Ranch. I made friends; I became an Owassoan, second best decision ever.

I don’t regret what I gave up because I gained so much, I love being from a place that has heart, that takes care of it’s own and doesn’t let you go once you become one of them.

I am now reconnected with my cousins and could not be happier, I am still a City girl by birth but an Owassoan by choice.

 

Tragedies

It has been a strange, sad week, filled with horrific happenings, one by accident and one on purpose. I never want to see another news report in my life.
The thing I would like to focus on is the humanity I saw this week, first we all came together for Boston, then we stayed together for West, a small Texas town.
Seeing the state of Texas come together to make sure one of its own is taken care of has been a balm on my soul. Boston’s loss is great, West’s loss is horrific, it is a small town in Texas with a population of roughly 2800 people, when something like an explosion happens and there is loss of life, the exact number unknown, the whole town feels it. Everyone knows everyone in a small town, I know, I come from one, if something like this had happened in Owasso I cannot begin to imagine the devastation.
I know one thing for certain, West will rebuild, they will feel the outpouring of love that the country will pour upon them, and they will be strong. They have to be, they have to live up to the Texas legend, everything is bigger and better in Texas and that includes hearts.
This town has heart, you ask me how I know, I know because my friend Alanna lives there, and she has one of the biggest hearts I know of in a person. She is strong, funny, smart and beautiful, inside and out, her husband is the Superintendent of the schools there, she will be by his side helping keep spirits up. She has a rare talent for that, I know without a doubt she will be huge help to the community she and her family have become a part of.
There are times I am incredibly proud to be an Oklahoman (ok, all the time) however, there are times I am so proud I chose a state like Texas to relocate to. If I can’t live in Oklahoma, I am happy to be in Texas, the people have heart, like Oklahomans. They have strength, like Oklahomans, they have a way of bouncing back after tragedy, like Oklahomans.
As I sit and ponder the 18th anniversary of the bombing in Oklahoma City, the bombing in Boston and the explosion in West, I am reminded that we are all Americans. That we all band together when something happens that we don’t understand, when it hurts one of us, it hurts all of us.
We mourn together, we heal together and we rebuild together. Southern, South Western, Northern, Mid West, we all are simply Americans.