Up there...

The media tells me some folks believe Barack Obama is ‘uppity’ because he’s a graduate of Ivy League schools: Columbia and Harvard Law. Due to those achievements, it’s said he just can’t seem to connect with some voters.

Really?

Let’s see, The First President Bush and the current Bush, who vacates the White House in January 2009, both attended Yale. Then President John F. Kennedy and little brother Bobby both attended Harvard. Then there’s Bill Clinton, our first supposed ‘Black President,’ attended Yale for his law degree, only after completion of studies at Oxford University as a Rhodes Scholar.

All that ivy sure blocks my view. Both Bushes are successful business men in their own right. JFK was Catholic, which scared some folks. His little brother Bobby, contributed to the Civil Rights Movement—which became a building block for Barack Obama’s position today. Then Bill Clinton was considered ‘inexperienced’—but he did have that Rhodes Scholar thing on his side. Was ‘uppity’ an adjective to describe any of these other Ivy League men? I doubt not. Just amazed the at the degree of scrutiny Barack Obama recieves for not looking like the ‘other’ guys.

I’ve been called uppity all her life. When it was uttered by people I knew—both Black (which includes family) and White-it hurt, I admit. Accusations of I did not sound or act Black enough—my goodness, what DOES that mean anyway? Or that I had too many White friends. Plus the closest I ever got to anything Ivy League was the purchase of a $1.98 ivy plant at Wal-mart.

Even in the 21st Century, a little stereotype goes a long way.

Come November 4, 2008, whether it’s an Obama win or loss, I will continue to bask in pride. My ancestors who built this country—literally-had families broken apart by being sold like livestock, yet treated lower than. My ancestors were denied any rights of any kind. For a time, slave logs did not list their names, just male, female or child. Because of what my ancestors endured then, there is success now.

Call it ‘uppity’ if you want. Call it a celebration for a moment in time that was and no longer is.

Microtia Musings

The whole not being able to hear everything on my left side thing. As my Sunday winds down, I thought about an episode, from earlier this week, with one of my bosses. She stood between a co-worker and myself, to my left, to give us instructions. I thought her instructions were finished, so I went back to reading my PC screen. I just happened to turn my head, and saw her still there.

She asked, “Are you all right?”

Huh?

“You just stared at the screen. Like you were in a trance.”

Yea, in a trance on how to improve my professional situation...I digress.. That’s another post… :)

“No trance. If you’re on my left, it’s hard to hear. Especially with all the noise. ” I explained how I thought she was done talking and had stepped away, hence I went back to screen. No trance here.

With this newest job, I realize I’ve explained more about not being to hear everything. So much noise in this department, I block it all out—microtia or not-and just do my work. Other co-workers, have two ears, and admit they can’t hear everything either. They’re glad I said something, because they were scared too.

Hey, my deal is, if you’re saying important, something I SHOULD hear, I want to be sure I get all of it. I’ll ask for it be repeated. No harm. No foul.

Folks ask if I hate having just one ear. Maybe so when I was a kid. I stuck out enough as it was then; usually the only Black kid in my class (in fact there were only two Black students in my entire high school when I graduated), my real first name is actually two names-with a hyphen separating them, and then the one ear? Nope, I wasn’t feeling all that self confident I was unique stuff back in those days….

Time changes everything.

I may not be considered ‘normal’ by some. That’s an issue they need to come to grips with. Being I have one ear doesn’t mean my IQ is lower. Doesn’t mean I missed out of something. To have one ear, doesn’t limit my doing ‘normal’ things Nifty at Fifty (and all) folks do: take belly dancing lessons, write the next great American book/play, tickle the ivories on my piano, clip coupons, bake a mean peach with crumble topping, and listen to a cat’s purr keep time with the tick of my mechanical mitral valve.

I am one of God’s creatures. I am unique.

History

History.
My great great grandparents: Enos, born 1814 and Louisa, born 1825. Slaves in Virginia. Not that far from Washington DC. Their son, Elias also my great grandfather, and his son, Andrew, my grandfather, both lived in Washington DC for a time. Did they wonder if justice and equal for all would ever touch them? Did they wonder how life would be better for their future family? Did they wonder if they would ever cast votes? Let their voices be heard? Respected as men and woman--and not less than live stock? Did they wonder if someone Black would walk the hallways of the White House that was not a servant? For that person to hold highest position in the land, with the world as its audience?
I'm sure they did. Optimism runs in my family.
History.
It's still being made.