This project is of vital importance and I am so grateful for the brave souls who came forward to tell their stories through essays and poetry. There is a strong representation with these author’s words.
On April 12, 2023 at 7 p.m. we are going to have a Book Launch for The Talk. You are invited to attend, to particpate as we continue the discussion behind the talk, the walk, the way of life, the way to survive that people of color have to deal with every day of their lives.
You can register by signing up with the EventBrite link. Then you will get a zoom link on the day of the launch so you can participate in this virtual event.
This incident resulted in a short-lived life because of prejudice. I believe that if a white child had whistled, it would have been laughed off as cute. In 2022 it would have been plastered all over social media as funny.
Therein lies one of many differences. The very most a white child would have gotten was a reprimand, or a talking to, but never a lynching. Never have his life taken.
So, let’s do that fast forward to today. I was talking with a black mother of two yesterday. One is an adult son and the other is an eleven-year-old daughter. I was telling her about The Talk project we are working on in the Garden of Neuro. She thought it was a great idea and offered more input. She informed me that this is about more than a talk but a whole life, day-by-day, when your child is reminded about how to hold up their character in society. When her children walk out the door, they have rules to live by. The rules that black children follow are not the same rules that white people tell their children. I know. I am a white parent.
The white parent says, look people in the eye to show confidence. The black parent says, be cautious about looking white people in the eye as they may say you are threatening to them.
The white parent says, offer your hand to shake a man’s hand. The black parent says, don’t be the one to offer a handshake, but shake the hand if it is offered.
The white parent says, stop by the store on the way to school and pick up a treat. The black parent says, stop by the store on the way to school, get your treat quickly and take it to the register. And be sure to keep your hands where they can be seen.
Emmett Till went into a store and whistled. It cost him his life. It was not his fault.
Flash forward to Trayvon Martin, who is 2012 lost his life at the age of 17. He was walking down the street, an innocent young man— shot because he was walking while black.
What is the difference between these two young men? One death was 77 years ago and the other was ten years ago. Another has and will continue to happen until things change.
Did you know that Emmett Till had “The Talk” given to him? Yes, he did. His own cousin spoke about it in the documentary. That’s the point. The talk about how to conduct oneself when walking out the door, and add social media indoors today— It is, as my friend stated yesterday, more than a talk, but a life you have to live and breathe each day.
Some may wonder why this white woman wants to hear about a talk that BIPOC have with their family members and friends. Anyone who truly knows me knows that my life has never been about black and white. It has always been about people. It has always been about my study of people and concern that people learn to get along. It is important – and I will speak from my own sociologist experience – that we understand what is going on in others’ lives, so we can be more compassionate, so we can make this a better place to live, so that we can be a part of the warm, love-filled environment that was meant to be. And if I appear to wear rose-colored glasses, so be it. Give me ones with purple frames.
I want to read these stories that I cannot tell. I want to know what people of color are dealing with day by day. I want to be inclusive in this life. And this is why I want to read these stories.
Do you have a story to tell? Please send it to the Call for Submissions for The Talk. This is open to BIPOC and their families and friends who have experienced the talk, the way of life, the rules for living. We want to hear them.
By the way, my friend also said something that I have been saying for a long time. The young people these days are going to change the world, and it will be a better place where we will get along. Let’s start with the talk and let’s be a part of that change.
If these walls could talk they’d tell mom’s stories of her younger years and the adventures of family and friends throughout our lives
They’d tell of wonders how that first date would go while sister curled my hair and put makeup on my 12 year old face while I perspired in her dress
They’d offer witness of each brother who came home on military leave to celebrate accomplishments and share family life and visits to old buddies
They’d tell of phone calls from far away, from old friends who never forgot relationships were more important than things
These walls would tell of tears laughter, hugs, kisses goodnight and all the life held in between these floral papers, these quiet walls if only, they could talk
Lisa Tomey-Zonneveld (c)
Memories of happy times in our lives are such blessings. I wish there had been a record of all the stories my mother alone would tell. As I am working on recording these, to the best of my memory, tears come and my heart warms. Later in his life, I recorded stories of daddy and his telling of his World War II service. I treasure that tape and the document created.
As I was working on Caring for Souls, what helped me is to look at old photographs of growing up. This has brought up so many memories that I am continuing to work in this process for another book.
Sometimes, we end up being the one who has been involved with caring for others or having others care for us. Mom did not care for having to be cared for, but it happened just the same. It was the love that was shared between and outside the walls that built these kind of relationships.
Are you caring for someone now? Please share in the comments. I want to hear about it, if you are comfortable.
May all your walls be covered with memories via photos, art, and more.
Years ago, before computers, we wrote letters. My mother’s letters were like little novellas. They sometimes were several pages long. She wrote her family members and friends and they loved to get her “books.” How I wish I had saved my letters from mom. As a witness to her letter writing, I would watch as her pen moved passionately across the pages, sometimes witnessing her eyes well up. Letters were her release. They were her way of expressing herself in ways she could not voice. Sometimes she would write letters to people out of anger and then tear them up. To my knowledge, she never sent one of those angry letters. It could have been politicians, relatives, and those are the ones I knew about. She would express her heart’s desire, open up her soul, and pour out her thoughts.
As a letter writer, I did not have the beautiful penmanship of my mother, but I learned that the pen was my power. I also wrote letters and tore them up. I even wrote one about the need for a doctor in our little town and it was published in the newspaper. I wrote letters to family, friends, old friends found from a long time lost, family who I wanted to see but knew my letters would reach them long before I ever would.
Now, I am a writer and a poet. I write as if my words are letters to the world, at times. Other times, I write to express my desires of the heart. And other times I write to write.
I firmly believe that when we do express our desires within our heart that this has a way of stirring up thoughts and even action plans to make things happen. Sometimes those things that happen are acceptances of things that can’t be changed, but sometimes they are steps to taking up the courage to make something happen in our lives.
What is the desire in your heart? This is my challenge to you. I would like to read about the desires in your heart in the “Dear Heart” anthology of letters, poetry, art, photography, and whatever ways helps you express your passion.
There’s a caveat to this. These are all to be sent to me via good old fashioned snail mail. I will sort through these and select which submissions to publish.
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