Land of Immigrants

Bits of songs and broken drums
Are all he could recall
So he spoke to me
In a bastard tongue
Carried on the silence of the guns

"It's been a long long time
since they first came
And marched through our village
They taught us to forget our past
And live the future in their image"

They said
'You should learn to speak a little bit of English
Maybe practise birth control
Keep away from controversial politics
So to save my third world soul

They said
'You should learn to speak a little bit of English
Don't be scared of a suit and tie.
Learn to walk in the dreams of the foreigner
-- I am a Third World Child

Johnny Clegg and Savuka’s Third World Child

Under low swirling gray clouds and rocked by the choppy North Atlantic Ocean, John Winthrop preached one of the most resonant sermons in American history from the deck of the frigate Arabella.  In A Model of Christian Charity, Winthrop challenged his auditors to become a "Citty on a hill', a beacon of Christianity to inspire the world.  The puritan errand into the wilderness should have provoked tens of thousands to follow the saints and create a New Jerusalem in the New World.  Unfortunately, the puritan dream ran aground on Gallows Hill in Salem in 1692.  Nonetheless, hundreds of thousands followed in their wake; not to seek a New Jerusalem but to seek freedom and economic opportunity.

When Louis XIV revoked the Edict of Nantes in 1685, over 100,000 Huguenots left France for the New York colony.  Seventy-five percent of the immigrants in the 17th Century were indentured servants from England, but after mid-century their numbers dwarfed in comparison to the inundation of Blacks from Africa, of whom over 900,000 were brutally transported to America between 1619 and 1808.  Irish immigration continued to rise steadily from the 1790's through the Civil War to peak in the 1840's during the Irish potato blight.  Chinese immigrants built the Central Pacific east from Sacramento in the post-bellum period, but Chinese immigration was cut off for a time by the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1894. 

From 1885 to 1910, 27 million people immigrated to the United States through the portal of Ellis Island.  These future Americans would challenge the capacity of the eastern cities and the patience of white Anglo-Saxon protestant culture, but America would respond to the challenge and emerge a better and more diverse culture.  Today, America is being tested again by a massive influx of immigrants from the south and the fearful specter of possibly dangerous visitors from the Muslim world, the Muslim fundamentalists (it should be noted that not all Arabs and Persians are Muslims), not only alien, but home grown too.  Should the U.S. close its borders and retreat into isolationism or recognize the inevitability of living in a globalized world?

America is a land built of immigrants, and American citizens are a modern breed of countless races and cultures.  An interview with Professor Newton Crawford from Columbia University in Rolla, Missouri revealed his ancestors hailed from Ireland and Scotland, though Crawfords have owned hundred of acres in south central Missouri for over a hundred years.  The writer of this document, for another example, traced her ancestry to five different cultures:  Bohemia, Germany, England, Scotland and Cherokee Native American.

Consider the current flux of immigration in America.  Why the yearning to live in the United States?  What do they want?  Should immigrants be expected to assimilate, such as learning English, as did those before them?  What policies should the U.S. government create, if any, regarding illegal aliens currently living within the border?  For how long should the U.S. remain a nation of immigrants?  Should the U.S. continue to open its arms to those seeking the same freedoms its fore fathers sought?  Or, is it simply that post 9/11 Americans are finding themselves more racist than ever before?

There are no clear cut answers to this complex issue.  This nation, a democracy that requires a singular respect of law, also has a Constitution that currently grants rights to all people living in the United States.  Is this to be followed to the letter or should caveats be initiated to protect the American Dream?

As we move towards the 2008 elections, this issue drives both political parties, and could, in fact, make or break the next president of the United States of America.  Part of searching for solutions is listening to the voices of the individuals most affected, the immigrants.  Students in the ESL program at Donnelly College in Kansas welcomed the opportunity to offer their insight and share their dreams in an unchained America.

In different words and accents, their voices echo as one:  We are the people from around the world who have traveled to a land of freedom for our share of happiness and a home for the brave.  We want to be accepted.  We want to know you.  We want to learn from you as you learn from us.  We want to keep our traditions and language while learning yours.  We have a multitude of voices.  Together, we have one voice that asks for a chance, the same chance you have.

My name is Nayere, and I’m thirty-five years old.  I am from Tehran, Iran, and I speak three languages, Persian, Turkish and English.  I want to tell you about my life.  I went to Aushera School and graduated from high school at eighteen.  My family lives in Iran, and I haven’t seen them since 2003.  This is my life.

My country had a problem with my religion.  There were no job opportunities, no socializing, no freedom of speech and no police protection because of my religion.   When I was young, my neighbor’s children beat me up.  This is my life.

I became a refugee, so the government paid for my ticket, and I rode the bus to Turkey where I lived for a short time.  They said I could go to the US, but I didn’t want to.  Then, they said I could go to New Zealand, and I didn’t want to.  I wanted to go to Australia where some of my friends lived.  I told them I had money to pay for a ticket to Australia.  Then, they said I had to leave Turkey and fly to the United States.  I miss my family and friends in my country.  I miss Persian foods, clothing, holiday parties and customs.  This is my life. 

My favorite holiday in my country is New Years.  Everybody has a two week holiday.  People clean house and change things.  They buy new clothes, for instance.  Old and young visit each other and give gifts.  They celebrate the New Year together.  My favorite tradition from Iran is Nineteen days.  Before New Years, we put our money together to help families without their fathers, poor families and people who are sick.

In the US, I am working at local hospital.  I serve the patients their meals.  This is my life.  The hardest challenge for me is to learn English better.  I like the U.S. because everybody has freedom of speech and religion.  Also, we have opportunities to work and socialize with anyone we want to!

I am taking English classes because I need to read my mail and pay my bills.  Also, I want to talk to people and find a better job.  I like my classmates and working together.  I enjoy making new friends.

The most difficult thing in my life is living alone, being alone in a foreign country.  This is my life.  The most important thing about me is that I am persistent and have a good sense of humor.  My dream is to live in Jerusalem some day.  I am thankful for my job and the opportunity to learn English.    This is my life.

My name is G. I. and I’m from Somalia in Africa.  I’m twenty-five years old and have three children.  I have four brothers and a husband who live in Kansas City with me. 

When I was a child, there was a drought that blew out everything.  Most of our animals died, and there was no food or water.  Later, I had to leave Somalia because of the war.  When the civilian war broke out, I walked five hundred kilometers in seven days on foot where my life was in danger from the soldiers as well as wild animals.  I fled to Kenya where I became a refugee.  UNHCR gave me resettlement to the USA.  I traveled from the Dagahaley refugee camp to GOAL in Nairobi where I waited for my flight for one month before flying to the USA. 

Here, I like the education, health, security and technology.  I don’t have a job now because I hurt my back.  My goals are to be a sufficient, educated person and to help my relatives and country become educated.  I am grateful for the government of Kenya who gave me hospitality, UNHCR who gave me food, shelter and water, IAM who took me to the USA and Catholic Charities who warmly welcomed me when I first arrived.

My name is Brahim, and I am from Fes, Morocco.  I’m twenty-four years old and speak Arabic, French and a little English.  I have nine brothers and sisters, and my father taught while my mom stayed home.  In my country, I left my family to go to a small city to continue high school.  Then, I graduated from Fes University when I was twenty. 

In June 2005, I left my country and traveled to the U.S. to build a better life by working and finishing my education.  I flew from the Casablanca Airport to JFK Airport.  I took a taxi to another airport, but the cab driver took a long way around and charged me two hundred dollars.  I missed my plane and spent the night at the airport until I could take another plane.

Now I am living in the U.S. happy and comfortable, but I still miss my country.  I miss Moroccan food, my neighborhood, my friends, and I miss too much my mother and father and all my family.  Life is nice here, though.  I see all new things in this land of opportunity and freedom.  No one can touch my opinion, direction, religion or race.

I work at a local hotel.  My job is room service and banquet server.  I get orders for people who call by phone, and I deliver what they need.  I respect every person and think anyone can be better with patience and ambition.  I am taking English classes because I want to speak and listen to American people very well, get a good job and finish my education.  I like my classmates. Every person has a private dream.  Mine is to be an excellent English speaker and to become rich so I can get what I want and help others.  I am grateful I can learn.

My name is Comfort, and I am a fifty year old woman from Liberia.  I have four sisters and three brothers and five children.  I left my country due to war.  First of all, I fled to a neighbor country, but there was war in that country too.  Then, I flew in a plane to the US.  Before we left Africa, the plane reached an area where there were mountains that stopped the plane from going.  Everyone was afraid.  Finally, we took off again and made it to the US.  I miss my children, brothers and sisters who are still in my country. 

I used to work at a local factory.  Any job God blesses me to find, I’ll do it.  What I like most about the U.S. is that they love the elderly and the children.  The most important thing about me is that I learn with understanding and love to be with kids.  My dream in life is that I learn English to find a better job and help my family and other people.  I am grateful because God saved us during the war, and now we are in America by the grace of the Almighty God.

My name is Miguel, and I’m from Guatemala and am twenty-six years old.  I did not graduate from high school.  I left Guatemala because I wanted to see what life was like in the USA and because everybody talked about the USA and how good it is for living and making good money.  I came here because I wanted to buy an American car, make money and live the American dream.  I have not done that yet. 

It took me three weeks to get to Kansas.  At the Mexican/USA border it was difficult.  I tried two times and finally crossed the third time by walking for almost three days.  When I reached Houston, Texas, I took a bus the rest of the way.  My family still lives in Guatemala, and I call them every week.

My job in the USA is attending a warehouse as a professional operator of a forklift.  I also work in a local restaurant as a prep cook.  No matter how hard I have to work or how much I have to pay, I like that I can earn money and buy things here. My dream is to become legal in the USA, visit my family in Guatemala, and own my own delivery business.

My name is Abdullahi, and I am from Garasay, a small village in Somalia.  I am twenty-five years old and speak three languages, May-Maay, my mother tongue, Somali and English.  I didn’t attend school in my country because there were no schools in my village, and I left my country when I was eight years old.  I left my country because of the endless civil war and famine.  I lived in a refugee camp in Kenya, and I graduated high school at the age of eighteen there.  My mother and my little sister came to the USA with me, but the rest of my family, including my father, died.  The most important thing about me is that I was not killed in the civil war.

It was hard to become a refugee.  Make sure, once your name is refugee, you are not free.  I mean you are under somebody else.  Therefore, you are kept as an animal.  Immigration asks you questions, which makes you nervous.  First, they ask the people easy questions and you tell all your privacy.  These interviews make many people who were planning for a new life fail. Many people kill themselves or run mad when they fail the interview.  Immigration demanded I forget my country, and now I am missing my country.  I cannot see my beautiful farm.  Where is the river I fished in?  Where can I swim?  Many people have forgotten or changed their beautiful culture.  For example, I thought that we would keep our own culture, but the first week in the United States my daughter called the police and I was given a warning.  Now, I cannot discipline my child.  I cannot demand for her to follow my religion or my culture.  

In the United States, I work as a clerk, filling envelopes and sorting mail.  My goal is to finish learning English, earn a PHD and go back to my country to save the people suffering over there. 

My name is Luz, and I am from Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mexico.  I graduated with an associate degree in my country when I was nineteen.  Now, I’m twenty-three.  I have a wonderful family who supports each other.

I left Mexico in 2003, with my family who had a visa.  We came by bus, but it was a very interesting trip since none of us could speak English.  Everyone told us that someone would speak Spanish, but we didn’t find anyone we could understand.  It took us thirty-six hours to get to Kansas City.  Now, my father and I are here in the U.S. while the rest of my family is back in Mexico.  I am a preschool teacher and teach three to four year old children.  I love teaching and helping children learn.

The most challenging thing since I came to the U.S. is to learn to look very careful for friends and boyfriends.  Most of the time I date someone, the first thing he wants is sex.  He thinks because I went out with him he has a right to do it.  It’s been hard to find someone who wants to be with me and not just wants sex.  When I don’t give in, he talks about me and start rumors.  The boys all tell me that America is different and it’s better if I do it.  When they see that I’m serious, they try to ruin my life.  They lie and tell my friends untrue stories, follow me, call me and even text inappropriate messages.  To be a virgin is challenging for me in the U. S.

The hardest thing in my life is to believe in myself, to believe that I am smart, beautiful, friendly, mature and strong.  The hardest thing is to believe that I’m not big, to believe that I’m pretty.  It’s hard because of the people telling me that I’m fat and that nobody will look at me, want to go out with me. 

What I miss the most from my country is my family, especially my niece and nephew.  I won’t see them growing up.  I won’t see their eyes and face and listen to their voices as they grow older.  They are my world.  My everything.  I can’t imagine how fast life is going and all the good times I am missing with them.  I miss my family so much that at times I think about hopping the next flight to Guadalajara.  When I hang up the phone after talking to them, my heart hurts.  Nothing is more important than my family.  I’d die for them if necessary.

I love the houses in America.  The houses look just like the ones in the children’s books my mom used to read me.  All my life I dreamed of seeing the houses and living inside them.  They look like the magic stories for kids.

I’m taking English classes because it is important to learn other languages.  It’s critical for my career and personal experience and opportunities.  My English class is very good, and I’m learning new things every day.  I firm my skills and practice them.  I enjoy my classmates, and we try to help each other.  We respect each other’s opinion.

My goal is to get a Master’s degree and be a business woman.  I always dreamed about owning and running my own business.  I’m grateful to have the family God gave me.  I am blessed because I have a very loving, understanding, supporting family.  We always worry about and help each other.  I will do whatever it takes to make them happy.

My name is Maday, and I am from Jilip, Somalia.  I am twenty-one years old and speak five languages, Arabic, Kiswahili, two dialects of Somali and English.  I was born in a very big family.  I am married and have a child.

I left my country because of civil war and famine caused by the war which caused the whole country to be devastated.  When the civil war began in my country, my family and I evacuated to Kenya, a neighboring country where we stayed for several years at a refugee camp.  We applied for asylum under the UN and were approved to come to the U.S.  We boarded a big plane from the capital of Kenya to London where we changed planes to New York and then to Kansas City.

My job is to fill and test the printer cartridge at a warehouse.  The most challenging thing for me in the U.S. is working hard with constant supervision.  In my country people are used to having their own farms and businesses.  People in my country work on their farms whenever they want or have a relative or friend work on their behalf if they are tired and need to rest or are ill.   I miss many things from my country:  friends, relatives, land and beautiful farms with coconut trees, mangoes, lemons, beans and rice.  My favorite tradition from my country is the circumcision ceremony where many people come and tease the person who is going to be circumcised if he/she cries.

I am a young, hardworking man who has had a lot of work experience since I was ten years old.  I have tailor, manufacturing and teaching skills.  I struggle to study well and make changes in the world’s situation.  I am taking English classes to attain my ambitions of becoming a great journalist and working as a news correspondent.  My teachers have great skills and have previously taught in many different countries around the world, so they are special teachers for me.  My classmates are important.  We help each other, love each other, and each of us is from a different country.  We share experiences and talk to each other about our cultures and beliefs.

My dreams are to become more efficient and have my own business instead of working for someone else at an entry-level job.  I am very grateful to have opportunities to help other people.  I am someone who likes to help people who are in need. I help people by volunteering, and I am currently helping a community called Somali Bantu community of Kansas. This community consists of almost 93 families, four of which are literate and can read, write, and speak English language.  However, the other 89 families are illiterate and can't read or speak the English language at all, and they really need help to live in the United States.  I always help them voluntarily when I have time for them.  I help them with interpretation, transportation, and homework.

I help adults in the Somali Bantu community voluntarily with language interpretation when they go to the health department to address their health issues, to the doctors, to immigration departments to apply for permanent residents, and also to schools to schools to talk to their children's teachers.  Transportation is a major problem among the Somali community in Kansas.  When I have a free time, I help the Somalis who need help with transportation.  I help transport them to their work places, health departments, and shopping centers needed.  Since most of them are illiterate, it is hard for them to get a driver’s license to drive or own a car, so that is why I commit myself to helping them.

Although I help adults in the Somali community, they also openly ask me to help their children after school with homework because the children are helpless, and since their parents don't understand or speak English, I help them. English is not their first language.  Helping people is what I do with most of my free time.  I am proud of what I do for my community.

My name is Laura, and I’m from Bogota, Colombia in South America.  I’m seventeen years old and have lived with my cousin in Kansas City since fifteen; I learned a lot from her, her two kids and from Americans.  My mom, godparents and the rest of my family are back in Colombia, and I miss them so much.  My mom is the most important person in my life and my role model, though I haven’t seen her in two years. 

I left my country because my mom wanted me to come and learn English to have a better life and future.  Her dad didn’t let her go when she had the opportunity, and she didn’t want me to miss out like she did, even though it meant that she would miss me so much. 

The most interesting story about my life is my birth.  My mom has told me the story many times, and it’s so meaningful to me because I consider it a miracle.  I was a premature child because I was born at seven months and two weeks.  It was a risky birth because while my mom was in surgery, her heart pressure shot up too high.  I was so little and very vulnerable that I could have died during the trip from one room to the next.  I was incubated for three months and in grave condition because I couldn’t breathe by myself and the doctors didn’t have any hope for me to live.  My mom was hospitalized as well and sad and depressed about me.  One day the doctor told my mom I wasn’t breathing at all, and it was not helpful to keep me connected to the machines.  The doctor asked her to sign an order to disconnect me.  She cried and cried but gave them the signature, though she was devastated and suffering so much.  Suddenly, the doctor told her that a really strange and unusual thing happened.  That morning I breathed by myself for the first time.  My mom was so happy and proud and considered me a gift from God.  If she sees me struggling with something, she says, “Laura, remember what a big warrior you are!  You’ve been battling since you were in my belly.  This is nothing compared with what you had to pass through.  You’re my gift and treasure, so be strong!”

I am taking English classes to improve my skills.  I love the way my classmates work hard and dedicate time and mind to learning English.  One of my favorite quotes is from Greece:  “Wisdom is having the knowledge of knowing you know nothing.”

My name is Haile, and I’m from Eritrea and twenty-six years old.  In my country, every male has to go for military training at eighteen for national service.  I finished my service, but a war started in Eritrea so the government didn’t allow me to go back to my family.  I went to Saudi Arabia for awhile until I had a chance to come to the U.S. 

I miss my family and friends.  I miss everything I did in my country.  I miss my culture and the streets I walked on.  In the United States, I used to bus tables, but now I am a host and cashier at a local restaurant.  My goal is to finish ESL classes and get a high school diploma.

My name is Ruslan, and I am from the Republic of Uzbekistan.  I am twenty-five years old and speak four languages, Uzbek, Russian, Turkish and English.  I graduated from school in my country when I was seventeen years old.  I traveled here to study and make good money.  I miss everything in my country:  my parents, brothers, sisters, friends, food, culture, life…  I don’t have a job here and am a student. 

My name is Lourdes, and I’m from Santa Barbara, Honduras and am twenty-six years old.  I attended college until I was twenty.  I have a big family, though my dad died three years ago.  My mom lives alone in Honduras, and the rest of us live in Miami, California or Kansas City.  The hardest thing about my childhood was when I didn’t eat because my mother didn’t have enough money to buy food.

I came to the U.S. because my husband was here and the income I made in Honduras wasn’t enough to live on.  I supported my son, went to college and wanted to buy a house.  Finally, I was so disappointed that I decided to leave my country for something new.  I started to travel with my son by bus from Honduras to Mexico.   Sometimes I walked, took a boat, rode in trucks or swam.  I did whatever it took to get to America.  The most challenging thing here is that I don’t have social security, a driver’s license or family insurance.  The weather is hard for me too.  I miss the weather, food, friends and studies in Honduras, but I like the security in America.  I work as a kitchen manager at Chipotle’s, and my responsibilities include cooking, organizing food on the shelves and supporting the others.

First of all, my name is Omar, and I’m twenty-two years old.  I was born in southern Somalia, and my nationality is Somali Bantu.  My family had gardens, and their job was working on a commercial agricultural plantation.  The opportunities to garden or farm provide benefits that go far beyond improving their tuition and earning extra income through the sale of surplus food.  I speak May-Maay (my first language), Kiswahili, Arabic, Somali and a little English.  In Somalia, we have a lot of tribes.  I can’t describe them, but my tribe is called Bantu, people trying to get food (hunters and gatherers called bushman) and living in the forests.  My tribe lived in a fertile region where the population grew with the aid of the very productive crops like banana, corn and grains.

In 1991, I was six years old and civil war broke out in our area.  In fact, our life became unbearable, and we ran out of the country to seek protection as refugees.  The fighting had been going on for at least one year, and a lot of people died.  Many of our people were killed while they were walking.  The bandits just started shooting, raping women and attacking.  Bantu tribes were the biggest victims of the civil war that broke out that year.  That is why we decided to move to another country.

After we arrived in Kenya, the UNHCR gave us resettlement to reside in a small town which they called Hagadera Refugee Camp, an area like forest.  Three to four families had to share items like dishes, bowls, rice, oil and sugar.  Many started moving into town, and they gave food every fifteen days, so we had to make it last.

After two years, the town was full of people, and I made friends, worked, played soccer and studied both at school and at Madrasa, the school of my religion.  I went to school five days a week.  I woke up at five and showered before going to Madrasa.  Afterwards, I ate breakfast, showered again and went to school.  When I returned home at four, I had to shower again before going to a private school to study grammar.  I was really busy but enjoyed it.

I still remember what happened in my country because Somalia is a place of great suffering with famine, war and crime.  Anyone looking for a simple-minded good-guy/bad-guy viewpoint should stop reading right now because this story, like all stories, is more complicated than that.

As I was studying, the USA gave resettlement to 13,000 Somali Bantu to settle in fifty American cities, so they collected us from the refugee camps to Kakuma, Kenya, a different town where we stayed awhile.  They fixed our family names and told us our flight was ready.  We walked to the market for shopping to prepare ourselves.  The next day, we came to an office building.  My family with ten other families listened as they called our names.  We boarded the bus to downtown so we could take the plane, heading for the land of the free.

My name is Yazmin, and I am from Veracruz, Mexico.  I’m twenty-nine years old and graduated from high school at eighteen.  I wanted to go on adventures, and a friend told me that America is a place where you can make money to travel.  I crossed the border from Mexico to the USA by paying a “pollero” eight hundred dollars to show me how to cross. 

My first challenge here was transportation to work at a local restaurant because I didn’t have a car and didn’t even know how to drive.  I was lucky because I was young and my friends and boyfriends taught me how to drive.  After that, language is the biggest challenge.  I miss my family, especially my grandma, and the fresh food and flavors (like Tamales de Elote and Zapotes).  I like how clean the city is and how friendly the people are in Kansas City. 

The hardest thing growing up was having an alcoholic father who beat my mom when he was drunk.  I had to grow up too fast to help protect my mom from my dad.  I left my home at age thirteen.

I’m very friendly, talk a lot but listen too.  I have lots of stories to tell.  I love God, and I love people too.  My dream is to learn English very well and have a good career.  I want to always be a good example to my daughters.  I want to have a house of my own.  Finally, I want to fix my legal situation because I really want to be legal in this country.

Like the citizens who stand beside them for employment, to worship, to achieve quality of life, they hope and dream for a better life in a land populated with people from all over the world who have merged into Americans. Having left homes, loved ones and traditions, they search for a chance at life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Lawmakers and voters can decide the fate of immigrants by weighing what immigration has done for the country, using the short, rich history of the United States to guide them toward parameters that benefit the new immigrants as well as the rest of the American population, immigrants all of them.  As George Santayana once said, “Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”  

Should the U.S. continue current immigration policies created in 1965 or go in a new direction?  Where will that lead us?  Should we choose alienation and fear?  Who will we be?  What will we lose?  

The solutions to the burning issues of modern immigration will usher in a stronger, unified America or alter the land of the free forever. 

*******Special thanks to the students of Donnelly College in Kansas for sharing their stories.

********Professor Newton Crawford helped with the information from the opening.

*******Originally published in Present Magazine in Kansas City, Missouri in Fall 2008.

End Result versus Process

         

        Donald Trump was elected as the next president of the United States of America earlier this week, and in the past two days, I have seen many reactions ranging anywhere from fear and shock to delight to sadness. From mourning to gloating to protesting. More than ever, Americans are divided and the extreme ends appear to be pulling even further apart. I, too, have had many emotions this week, and underneath it all, something kept nagging at me. I mean I was both stunned yet not when Trump won the election because I have feared that our country was headed towards something like this. After all, it was a rough election year, and too many people expressed frustration and hatred towards the political world to which Clinton belongs. Furthermore, more and more people popped up with racist and sexist rhetoric or actions this year. A country controlled by a police state and/or a religious right, that is what I have worried about. And, I’m not talking about being concerned about a country that loves God, but about a country that hates God or that abuses His name. For instance, check out these novels: It Can’t Happen Here by Sinclair Lewis, The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood, Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, 1984 by George Orwell, or The Hunger Game series. And read this entire essay along with all of its links. 

          In the past two days, many of those on the “winning” side have been telling the country to get over it and move on, despite those who threw temper tantrums (and even spouted racist rhetoric over the past eight years). We just need some time to mourn. Also, we ask that those who voted for Trump attempt to understand our concerns (see above paragraph for some of mine). I know people who voted for Trump, and I understand why they thought they needed to even if I don’t agree with them; I ask for the same consideration from them. 

In the past two days, I have seen those on the “losing” side split into two camps. One camp consists of those who are protesting and/or throwing a fit. Peaceful protest is a right in this country and taking positive action is something that should be happening; however, violent protests, riots, destruction of property, and hateful words are not acceptable. For instance, check out this list of organizations. Find a positive way to create action and change through civic engagement and responsible citizenship. The other camp is inspiring, and many of my friends are in this camp. They are mourning, yes, but they are also calling for positive action, calling for our country to come together, calling for us to use our talents/words/creativity to express ourselves. I applaud them and am proud to call them friend.

Donald Trump is the president elect, and as Americans, we must either honor this fact or find non-violent ways to protest it. Either way, something else has been bothering me for the past two days. What concerns me is this: What lesson have we taught our children from this election? What lesson are we saying is just fine and dandy for our country, for America, and thus, for the world?

First let’s consider the absolute best scenario in the situation we have in front of us. In fact, many have called for everyone to come together and work with Donald Trump, so let’s say we do so. Trump was elected as the next president, and let’s say he takes office with everyone’s support and in the end our fears are unfounded. Trump becomes a wonderful president and does amazing things and in reality Makes America Great Again. Let’s say that happens. Yes, you say. I’d be happy with that, you think. Wait a minute…you are forgetting a very important point. Even if that happens, Trump should not have been elected because of his actions and words!!!!

If I ranted and raved and publicly spouted racist and sexist comments for months, mocked a disabled person, dishonored a veteran, and so on, I would never be hired by a college in the United States again. I just wouldn’t. In fact, I would lose whatever teaching jobs I currently hold. What about you?! Imagine that you did and said the same things that Trump has done and said over the past year. How would your work life be looking?!

A lesson this election result teaches is that the end justifies the means.

Might makes right.

In fact, I have heard people say that Trump was doing those things in order to get attention in order to market himself and win votes. Whether he did so because that’s what he believes or as a publicity stunt doesn’t matter. The fact is that he did them.

And, as I have been reminded recently, many believe that Clinton has done some terrible things too, but that misses my point. It’s true that no human being is perfect, but this goes beyond that and into reprehensible words and actions in full view of the public. Maybe we need a complete overhaul of the process of running for, voting for, becoming president (though we should carefully consider that and research why our Founding Fathers set up the electoral college the way they did before we move to revamp it)? Or perhaps what we need is better options to choose from?

Regardless, let's consider these questions:

Do we teach our children that the end result is all that matters?! That it’s okay to cheat as long as they get an A in the class or win the game? That it’s okay to plagiarize someone else’s work as long as they get a good grade? That it’s okay to make fun of someone if it will help them be class president? That it’s okay to kick the kitten or puppy or to bully others if it will help them be popular in school? 
To the contrary. I have watched friends and family raise their kids, and I know that many of you teach your children similar ideas that I teach my daughters: to work hard, to do their best, to take responsibility for their words and actions, to be compassionate and kind, to support/build rather than compete/tear down, and to be the change they want to see in this world. 

Furthermore, I teach process in college composition classes, and the students hate it. They hate that we spend weeks writing and revising and editing the same essay, but it’s that process that teaches them so much and that helps them end up with not only a stronger paper but also pride in the fact that they did it!

It’s process and practice that helps anyone be good at anything.

I don’t want the world I live in to be one where might makes right and where the end result is all that matters. And that is one of the reasons that I have been upset about the results of this election.

I wrote the above and left to go to meet my family to watch my nieces and nephews sing in their Fall Program. And, I returned home feeling better because I was reminded of unity and community in our daily lives. I saw a town come together: we stood and sang the national anthem with the children, and we applauded veterans from all branches for their service. At the end, the children sang lyrics that brought tears to my eyes and that reminded me of what’s important now. First graders of Houston, Missouri sang, “United we stand, divided we fall,” and they poured their hearts into it. Tonight reminds me of the importance of discourse and community and of the significance of the things we are doing in our daily lives such as how we raise our children and the values we instill in them. Tonight leaves me with hope for our families, hope for our communities, hope for our country.

God bless America, land that I love.

Moored

Dear UD,

So many stories I long to share, to call you up and tell you about. So many brainstorming sessions that I yearn to have with you. So many questions I want to process with you. So many experiences I crave to express to you.

For example, another creative genius died this month. Prince is gone, and it seems like too many greats are being called home, leaving this earth mourning and lost and headed for some sort of apocalypse.

As another illustration, I am reading this book by Brené Brown called Rising Strong about being vulnerable, compassionate, authentic people who set boundaries, and I wish I could talk to you about it.

Plus, she understands love and loss. Brown says, “Yes, I agree with Tennyson, who wrote, “ ’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” But heartbreak knocks the wind out of you, and the feelings of loss and longing can make getting out of bed a monumental task. Learning to trust and lean in to love again can feel impossible.” And she writes that “C. S. Lewis captured this so beautifully in one of my favorite quotes of all time: To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.” She captures the risk, the reward, and the problems that arise if we don’t take the risk.

In another instance, I want to tell you about Lexi and Laina, about all of the amazing things that they are doing and about the challenges they are facing and about the crazy, fun, couchsurfing adventure we had last week. And about how we all three miss you.

And of course I want to tell you this… I was selected as the Outstanding Adjunct for 2016 for the Eastern Florida State College Palm Bay Campus, and when I told Mom, the first thing she said was that you, Uncle David, would be so proud of me. I know that, and it warms my heart. I still wish I could call and tell you about it. Let you know how you helped me become the best teacher and person that I could be, and I am grateful for every phone call, email, visit, minute that you spent with me, showing me that you valued me, teaching me that my interests and desires are important, shaping my philosophies and morals. There are no words to describe what that means to my life.

Ironically, the ceremony where I will receive my award is on the very day that we lost you last April. Or is it apropos…a way to honor your help on my path to this moment.

The year anniversary of your death is here, and I still miss you so much. As time goes on, it doesn’t get easier, navigating this world without you, missing you, yet the ache of the loss does lessen overall, though sometimes it still strikes as sharp and painful as ever because the hole left in a world without you will never be completely filled.

But, I am mooring, pulling in everything you did for me, everything you taught me, everything beautiful and right and good about you. And I am holding it all inside me, not heavy like the weight of grief but shaped like the feather of an angel or a phoenix, light and loving. Shielding. Freeing.

At your funeral, they played “Wind Beneath My Wings,” and you were that for me and for so many of your family members.

In countless ways, you showed us too much to put into words—how one person can love another, how actions and words can run parallel, how taking time for others matters, how to listen, share, give, how to process this crazy world, how to care for all of God’s creatures, how to be respectful/courteous/kind, how to be centered in the midst of anything.

The grief I ball up like a stone, what’s left of it after all the tears that have bled out of me, and I hold it in my hands. I reach my arm back and launch it forward, away from me, releasing it into the ocean, back into the physical world.

As you would want for me, encourage me to do, I let go and look inside. Draw in courage from all that you shared, from all of the memories. Find hope for the future.

Time to choose, time to decide, time to stand strong.

Belong.

I choose me, I choose life, authenticity.

I am a powerful, passionate, blessed, and beautiful, beloved daughter of God.

UD, I love you so much. And I miss you still. Forever, I carry you in my heart, and with all that you taught me, with God’s help, with trusting and believing in myself, with living my contract, and with the support of family and friends, I mend. We mend each other. Never the same, but new. A new tapestry woven from the past and present, the future up to us. As Ram Dass said, “We're all just walking each other home.”

With the memories and love of you written on our very cells, we merge our old lives and stories into something new that can move us forward into this future without you. While it wouldn’t be what we would choose if given the choice, it is what is, and so we press on.

Moored.

Moored by the foundations laid by past generations, by all I learned from them, from you.

Moored by my faith and belief in God, by my God.

Moored.

We remember the stories of old and carry them with us into the newness of our lives. Now, we have a new story to tell. One that leans on the foundation you helped set. Thank you, UD.

Goodbye, Uncle David. For now. Someday, when we meet again, I will tell you the rest of my story, and I will make you proud. Until then, I hold your love close, smile, and step forward into the future.

Love,

Rach

PS: With this post and the year of letters to you, I commemorate you and your influence on so many lives. We love you. xo

How Do I Miss Thee, Let Me Count the Ways

Dear UD,

This month, everything reminds me of you, and every day feels like a countdown to the day my foundation was shaken.

For instance, Facebook reminded me that one year ago, I tagged you in a photo of Mom’s flower garden, the one that you helped her create by buying her so many bulbs over the years. Yellow daffodils, pretty tulips, purple irises, and so many more.

One year ago today, you were on this earth, and I could tag you in a photo that you would see.

One year ago today, you were at home where I could call and talk to you almost any time of day.

Tonight, I’m drinking tea that I finally dug out of the cabinets, an herbal brand that I took from your home on the day of your funeral. You had so many boxes that you would never have a chance to use so I took one. I didn’t drink any tea for almost a year; opening the box was an acknowledgement that you were gone, but when I came down with a bad cold this spring, I remembered the box of tea, and now I sip the minty brew and think of you. When I drink tea, I will always think of you.

One year ago today, you were drinking iced tea, and I had the hope of another family meal at your place.

This month is a minefield and every day a reminder that the day the earthquake struck is approaching. I take a step to the right, and I remember an email conversation last April where you helped me revise a prompt for my Creative Writing class. I asked how you were, if you were writing, what you thought of the prompt, and if it made sense, and you replied:

               Hey, Rach,

               1)      Okay, not great. 

               2)      Not really. 

               3)      I think it is clear but a bit overwhelming. 

               4)      Yes, it makes sense.

          Grammar—parallel tense:  How did what you learn in Creative Writing . . .

          I would consider selecting 6 to 8 quotes for the assignment and then giving out the rest of them as an appendix for             further consideration.

          Love, UD

I love how you always, always started with a salutation and ended with love. What I would give for another email conversation with you.

A step to the left, and I think about how you coached and supported Lexi as she developed as a performer. Now, she has her first professional dance job, and I am so proud of her. We always thought you would be here to see her blossoming into an adult and professional dancer, and we want to call and tell you all about it. But we're grateful that Lexi had that chance to learn from you on her journey here.

A step to back, and I remember the day before, the day when I talked to you on the phone and wrote my last journal entry. I talked to you about wanting to visit in May, and I said that I loved you. I’m so grateful that I spoke to you that day, but I wish so much that I could talk to you again. That night, I wrote in my journal about my day, and then I ended it with a positive narrative about what my ideal life would be, something I’d wanted to do for years. The next day, I lost you, and I haven’t journaled since.

UD, a friend recently told me that I’d been searching for something outside myself. At one time, yes. Sometimes, yes. I am human, fallible, imperfect, yearning for love and belonging.

If I try to search for answers outside myself, that’s not good. If I’m looking for someone or something to make me okay or to fix or save me, that won’t work.

However, all humans need positive male role models in their lives.

Someone remarked that I am different, unique because of how deeply the loss of an uncle has impacted me, but it’s not just me who is feeling so unmoored in our extended family. Plus, you were one of those special people who impacted so many around you. Not to mention the fact that your loss was near the end of a long, hard set of traumas dealt all within a fairly short amount of time, and like a domino effect, one by one, they crashed down, leaving a scattered mess in my life.

And grief is the same yet different for everyone….it’s the same because, whether we’ve lost a beloved aunt/uncle, parent, grandparent, child, sibling, friend, there is now a hole in our heart, and our life will never be the same; we will never again be the same. Yet, it’s different because those relationships are different and because we are all different people with different personalities, needs, desires. Ultimately, loss is difficult, demanding, arduous, and the grief that follows is something that can take time because it shakes us up and spits us out alone and altered.  

And the thing is…you were one of the very few people on this earth with whom I felt completely safe. One of the few people who saw and accepted all of me. Nothing can replace that.

Safe….I realized recently, that there are only a handful of people I feel completely emotionally safe with and that I do not speak up as much as I need to around those I don’t feel emotionally safe with. It’s time to change that. Though difficult, it’s healthiest for me as well as those around me. I wish I could talk to you about this and process it, but I know you would be proud of me. I hold onto that as I attempt to navigate a new way of interacting and of being true to myself and others.

I feel like I am waking up from a long, hard nightmare…so much to handle in the past few years that I have been overwhelmed, numb, depressed, anxious. January 2013, the girls’ dad dropped a bomb in our lives that we are still processing. October 2013, Lexi moved to NYC for performing arts school, and, while natural and normal for her to go off to college, I grieved. May 2014, Grandpa Crawford died, and a few months later, Dad was diagnosed with cancer and put on hospice. December 2014, Laina and I sold what we could, packed what we could, gave away the rest, and moved back to the farm to be with my Dad and help the family. January 2015, he died. April 2015, you, Uncle David, died suddenly. May 2015, we moved back to Florida so Laina could go to high school with her friends. December 2015, we lost Charlie from Florida (my writing friend and the reason we moved to this area near the ocean), and I fell and broke my right wrist in three places. January 2016, I had surgery on my arm and was virtually helpless for a couple of months. Too much in too short of time, too difficult to process all of this, especially without you.

But this month, this month, every day, I remember you…

Love, Rach

A Year without Words

Dear UD,

April is the month of spring renewal and poetry, a mix of greens/reds/yellows/purples, of budding limbs and of word play. And now also of a sword that strikes suddenly, swirling death into the pretty mixture. Everywhere we turn grief rises up to greet us—suicide bombings in Belgium and Africa, the protagonist of a post-apocalyptic series sacrificed, movie or rock stars like Alan Rickman and David Bowie falling, a supreme court seat emptied in an election year, and on and on it goes.

And you, gone with no goodbyes.

The one-year marker of your death approaches, and I am still numb, hurting. Sad. Tears still fall so often.

Soon it will be…

365 days since a dam broke inside from too much to mourn in too little time (Grandpa, then Dad, then you).

365 days since my body’s visceral keening. All of the pain flowing up and out of my throat, leaving me voiceless, wordless. And now, almost a year later, I am starting this month of April with no voice, literally, from a cold virus.

365 days with no words. Journal pages blank. Empty.

For a year, I’ve written letters to you but nothing else. No diary entries, no stories, no essays, no poems.

Empty pages, empty landscape, empty love tank.

I feel so alone.

Uncle David, I still miss you. I wonder how I will endure this, how the heavy grief that has taken up residence in my body will ever leave.

There are no words.

During this month of spring and poetry, I can only think of elegies I’ve read, so many poems of sorrow, a human experience we all know. These woeful songs of lament and grief leaving me voiceless, wordless.

Bereft.

I am still not ready

to say goodbye.

Love,

Rach

March Birthdays, Take Two

Dear UD,

Today, I have no words.

Today, you would have been 62.

Today, a year ago, we celebrated your 61^st birthday all weekend at your place, another family celebration filled with kids playing ball outside (and Little and Aiden jumping cliff to cliff, flying over open space), dogs romping around (except poor O. B. who shadowed your every move, sitting between your feet at every chance), and cousins/siblings/aunts/uncles all playing various games of Scrabble, Bridge, and the new Dragon Joust card game that you created. And you, cooking, grilling, making special meals for all of us even though you were the honored birthday boy. 

Sonny, Mom, and I stayed up until midnight on the night before, playing Bridge with you to ring in the first moments of your birthday. We saluted your birthday, and you jumped to Three No Trump, like always, winning the rubber.

We sang Happy Birthday (something you did for every single one of us on every birthday through a phone call), ate cake, and watched you open presents. Last year, mostly, you received cards, as you requested, where we told you how much you meant to us.

Did you know then, somewhere hidden inside, that it was your last birthday?

Did you know, in a way that we did not until after, how deeply you impacted our lives on so many levels? How very much we loved you? How special you were?

Even as we brought you presents, you gifted us with everything you had, with everything you were. 

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. ~Hamlet (1.5.167-8)

Today, a song comes on the radio, and the lyrics slay me. No longer are you “only one call away.” No longer are you “there to save the day.” No longer can your siblings or 17 nieces and nephews or 30 plus great-nieces and nephews call to share news, get advice, wish you Happy Birthday.

Today, we vote in the primaries, trying to pick the best of the worst, without a viable option. I imagine what you would say and wish we could talk about it.

I’ve heard some people laugh at the idea of Trump, saying he wouldn’t have the power to do anything if elected. I’ve heard others say that Trump is a refreshing choice, someone to bring new life to the political hypocrisy and depravity of this corporation-run government. Both of those are furthest from the truth. This election year has been a debacle of Hunger Game/Nazi proportions. Will we not learn from history or from futuristic literature? George Santayana said, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it,” but World War II wasn’t that long ago. Surely we haven’t forgotten it already or forgotten where racism, prejudice, and blindly following dictators who use repeated common fallacies in reasoning leads?!

I would remind you of the stories I have read, of Fahrenheit 451, “Harrison Bergeron,” The Handmaid’s Tale, The Giver series, the Unwind series, and ask how people cannot see the parallels. How they cannot see our country sliding headfirst into a dystopia.

I have tried to stay out of the political debates this year, but Trump scares me. He should scare all of us. Elie Wiesel, Holocaust survivor, winner of Nobel Peace Prize in 1986, and author of Night, wrote, “We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.”

You always wanted to see the best in people, in our country, in our world. I wonder what you would say now, after all of the headlines and horrors of the past year. After the past week when our first amendment right to peaceful protest has been under attack. In the words of Elie Wiesel, “There may be times when we are powerless to prevent injustice, but there must never be a time when we fail to protest.”

 

So, today, I speak up and cast my vote. 

And, today, I’ve heard from various family members who are all thinking of you, honoring you, missing you.

Mom is planting a flower garden with roots and bulbs of perennials such as lilies, irises, wildflowers, and bleeding hearts. Every spring when they shoot up and bloom, she will think of you.

Others will watch a musical or Hitchcock classic or Shakespeare play, and some will reach out to a sibling or cousin and cherish the mundane fact of having a phone conversation with a loved one.

Still others will cook a meal that they learned in your kitchen while most of us will play a board or card game.

Whatever we do, we remember you.

Today is your special day. We love you, Uncle David. Happy birthday!

Love,

Rach

March Birthdays

Dear UD,

Today is Dad's birthday, the first day of March and yours, the 15th, halfway through. 2016, the year after we lost you both, the year when March limps in without roars, the year when spring, renewal, rebirth all seem out of reach.

Today, I honor Dad by remembering his beautiful and eloquent words to me on this day, 16 years ago:

I think all of us tend to look back on our lives on our birthdays, and solitary reflection is good for the soul…summoning tendrils of sadness and regret…but bringing also joy and the quiet contentment that comes with remembrance of things past. On this day I feel doubly blessed to have lived and loved, and I wanted to share an epiphany that intruded forcibly…bringing the greatest birthday gift imaginable...an ineffable sense of wondrous awe. Hovering always at the periphery of conscious thought is the blessed awareness of the people I love, my fellow traveler through this vale of tears. But this morning, in pensive solitude…I felt you all as a powerful presence…as a celestial choir singing the Happy Birthday song…I truly felt you all as if physically present…our hearts thrumming a delicate refrain of indescribable loveliness. And I thought that there is great beauty in this imperfect world…the indescribably sublime wonders of nature…the unutterable beauty of song…Willie Nelson singing “Always on my Mind”…the baroque counterpoint of Bach…The Winged Victory of Samothrace standing in Majestic grace after 23 centuries…fragments of thought from other fellow travelers we have never met, snatches of incredible poetic utterance…”And the women come and go, Talking of Michelangelo”… fictional characters we feel we know, like Yossarion and stately, plump Buck Mulligan. But shining above all of this with effulgent brightness is the blessed assurance that Love is the one thing that makes life worthwhile. I think there is a certain amount of wisdom that comes naturally as we age and mature, and I think walking for a year in the shadow of darkness has helped me see a great light…like Saul on the road to Damascus…I see how we are transported by love to any earthly paradise beyond description…that love for intimates, affection for friends, and good will towards everybody…redeems our tenuous lives and makes our transient pilgrimage significant. For above all else, I am assured that our love is a pearl of great price, a solitary Rose blooming in a wasteland. I love you, Honey. Dad

 

Flash forward to 2009, the last of his birthdays I celebrated with him in person. A trip to the Crawford farm, snowed in by a blizzard which blanketed the world in white, nestled in with family for cards, movies, music, and birthday cake, and a trudge through the snow with some of the younger kids.

I remember more clearly my last time celebrating anything with Dad. Christmas 2014. During the last week of his life, Dad remarked that he was glad he had moved back to the Ozarks, to the family farm, because it was home.

You, too, moved back to Missouri, near family. Home is where the heart is.

 

Yesterday, or so it seems, you said I was… and then my girls were… growing up too fast. If only you and Dad were still here to see them (and all 20 plus of the next generation) grow into their talents and careers and lives. Now it's their turn to ask, Do I dare disturb the universe? But I wouldn't want to be there (young adults who have to find their way) in this postmodern society. You, Dad, Eliot, all three of you pondered, probed this extraordinary, harsh, dark, and lovely world. If only both of you were still here to share your wisdom and counsel.

Today, I honor Dad with a movie marathon of some of his favorites. From the hilarious and beyond cool Blues Brothers to Kiss me, Kate to the mysteries of Agatha Christie to the bumbling Colombo played by Peter Faulk to the sharp and witty Sherlock Holmes. At least I will watch as many as possible after work, and I will laugh and cry, but love these classics and the memories they inspire.

 

Today, I light a candle for Dad, and on the 15^th I’ll light one for you. You were both such a blessing in our lives in so many ways, and we are blessed to call you family. So I declare March birthdays a blessing. Happy birthday, Dad. Happy birthday, Uncle David.

We miss you both more than words can say.

Love,

Rach