Thanks to all of you who have visited Book Readers Heaven this year... Both writers and readers have made my life complete and emotionally full...through books and sharing... Thanks to Charles Anderson, Lee Harmon and others who have been willing to stand up to my sometimes deep questions on their books and respond honestly and openly... There have been so many who have shared their issues and goals through their wonderful books. But, I think this book was probably the one most deeply felt...in a strange, but, for me, quite reasonable response since I had experienced job burnout, humiliation and anger during my last years of employment...
When I read this man's story, I wrote my review. If you haven't read it, please click over and do so...
Since I haven't been able to get over my anger for how I was treated by officials at the place where I worked, I reacted on behalf of this writer. Why wasn't there anger in his book?!
He wrote back to me after he read my review...
Hi Glenda,
Wow, Wow, Wow, Your review left me speechless with
tears running down my cheeks. You brought back memories that vacated my brain
years ago. To answer your question of
where is the hate, I have to say the “no response” it is a learned
response. I observed my father’s face
each time Mr. Sampson brought him moonshine. Dad “Smiled”
and vacated the premise. Any show of
emotions would have cost him his life. When approached by Mr. Lust, he expected
me to smile and respond, “How can I please you today. Any other response could have cost me my
life. This was early in my pre-teen and
teenage years before I became a Catholic.
The only one I could fight back was other young
blacks who bullied me. I could with them express my anger and frustration with immunity. This was a daily practice until Sister Bird
intervened. When I dug, the three-foot
ditch around the football field, it was the first time I felt punished for
expressing my anger. Sister Wisdom put
the dressing on the cake when she told me that if I ever lost my two front
teeth, I would never play the trumpet again.
Then my Catholic faith taught me that the act of holding on to anger,
hurts and frustration was a self-inflicted wound. It would destroy me from within. My fight with Fred in the ninth grade was my
last physical fight until I encountered Herodias in 1964.
I became so angry with her that I ran to catch her. I thank God that she was able to get into her
apartment before I caught her. I was so
angry that I temporary lost my sanity.
Had I caught her, you would not be reading this blog. She would be wearing a halo or fanning
red-hot flames and I would probably still be in Fort Leavenworth or dead. Remember, she was eight month pregnant. Had I
caught her, she and her baby would have been seriously hurt or dead. I was so angry that I had lost touch with
reality and had to learn from eight strange women who observed the incident to
tell me what occurred. Remember, I am a
school-trained infantryman trained to take the enemy out. By the time, I had an encounter with
Bathsheba; my faith had matured to the point that I put the incident in the
hand of God. Satan’s influence was so
strong that is subverted justice.
Again, at a tender age, I promised mom that I
would never hurt a woman. My sense of
righteousness became my Achilles hill. I
am still angry at many things in life but I try to emulate Mother Theresa practice
to turn my anger into “something beautiful for God”.
Daily I pray St. Ignatius Loyola’s’ prayer: “Lord
Jesus Christ, take all my freedom, my understanding, and my will. All that I have and cherish you have given
me. I surrender it all to be guided by your will. Your love and your grace are wealth enough
for me. Give me these Lord Jesus, and I
ask for nothing more. Amen.”
I believe that if you are not part of the
solution, you are part of the problem. I
hope my book will begin a national conversation about race and
self-determination and independence. My
life is proof that adversity can be overcome and you can achieve any dream you
dare to dream.
~~~
Recently, I got a new email from James and asked if I could share:
I visit Jolande daily, talk, and sing to her. This is like waking up from a bad dream but I know that I am not dreaming. I never dreamed that our marriage so perfect in my eyes, would end like this but I am sure that God has another purpose of which I am not yet privileged to know. I need to be patient and wait.
James Womack
Author "Black Dad-White Dad"
James, you have opened your heart to those who've read your book...Now we open our hearts to you and Jolande... My Mom died peacefully in her sleep, but she always feared that something would happen and she would be a burden to me since she'd been living with me. We never know how to face what comes in and to our lives. More importantly there is always the hidden question of Why... We never know the answer... But I know this Jolande and you are:
Know that you have allowed us to walk in your shoes...now we can share your heart as the love of your life faces the unknown...
I thank you for sharing your burden with me and allowing me to share with others. My Readers, stop just a minute this Thanksgiving and whisper and send your thoughts to Jolande and James and know that we've walked in their shoes and into their hearts this day...
May we all say thanks to those around us and those far away - Thanks to James from me for allowing me to bear his anger and then showing me to let it gooooo...
May your Thanksgiving and upcoming holidays be filled with their meaning...to love one another, as we are able... to walk...
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