Don't need no baggage.

US Rep. John Lewis, now

"People get ready, there's a train a comin'

You don't need no baggage, you just get on board

All you need is faith to hear the diesels hummin'

Don't need no ticket, you just thank the Lord."

~ from People Get Ready

This week was interesting. I saw the pendulum of life swinging back and forth. Light and then darkness. Highest highs chased down by low lows. But not so much in the sense of joy and pain or sunshine and rain, really.  Instead, this week I saw the most beautiful parts of humankind right beside the ugliest. It was simultaneously heartwarming and heartbreaking.

U.S. Representative and civil rights leader John Lewis came to speak at the boys' elementary school this week. The teachers were amazing and reflective in preparing the children for the visit. Those educators were brave in their discussions and those children were appropriately serious in learning of some of the darker parts of American history.

civil rights activist, John Lewis, then

One of the faculty from the boys' school said this in a blog comment:

"I teach at your children's school and today we have the honor of having US Representative John Lewis come to talk to the 3rd - 5th graders. In the computer lab this week I have been sharing with the students a little slice of Mr. Lewis' life and his role in the Civil Rights Movement.

It is not an easy thing to talk to 8, 9, 10 and 11 year old children about things that went on in our country not very long ago. It sometimes is literally difficult for me to talk about it without a catch in my throat.

However, like I tell my students, that to take the easy route and not talk about these things, these painful things from our history is to do a huge disservice and dishonor to the men and women who did stand up, who got arrested; got beaten; got killed so that our country could fully live up to its claim of being the land of the free."

Interestingly, the post that this faculty member commented on included this photo--in which I just noticed includes a young John Lewis on the left.

Another teacher told me that Mr. Lewis got down on one knee just like he was doing in this picture taken several decades ago. Yes, he kneeled down and connected with those kids in a way that moved her deep in her soul. It resonated with those third, fourth and fifth-graders, too.

Little did we know that he had so much practice.

And this was beautiful. That visit, the children, the lessons, the everything. Mr. Lewis giving a testimony as one of the living, breathing people that was there. Right there.

Mr. Lewis on the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama.

Yes, he was there and now they were, too. Him and all of those educators determined to hold up the light and to keep that dark part of history in the past.

No, I wasn't there to personally hear Mr. Lewis, but I know that it was beautiful. I sure do. Beauty pulled out of the aftermath of ugly times. Beauty in humankind.

In this same week, I did something that I've never really ever had to do. I took down a blog post. No, not because I was thinking of having the story published somewhere or because I modified it in some way. I removed a post that felt cathartic to write and even more so to go back and reread. I had to because it revealed to me an ugly part of humanity that troubled me too much to walk straight through.

Many who come here often read the post to which I am referring; the story of this subtle yet painful racism that I perceived when scolded by a man in a pizzeria about the behavior of my children (and a group of others.) Not surprisingly, the story yielded a good number of comments from veteran readers and new readers. Some were in full agreement with my reaction to this man, and a few were not.

And the fact that some were not was cool with me. I even asked my friend Sister Moon what she thought of this and she said in so many words that as long as the person doesn't sound too crazy or offensive then yes, it's okay to not completely agree. (And those who read her, know she keeps it 100% realer than real.)

So I posted those comments right along with the others and responded with what came to my head and from my heart. But then something happened. I received a couple of other comments that weren't subtle at all and that could not--like my take on that man in the pizza parlor--be open to interpretation.

One referred to a photo of my children and said the they will be on their way to jail soon. Yes. Jail. This was the comment on a lighthearted post about banter between a 5 year old and 6 year old in the back of their mom's car. That they will soon be in a penitentiary. Because this, according to the quasi-anonymous commenter, was their destiny as black boys.

Yes.

Another suggested to me that the man in the pizza parlor was trying to teach me about social norms. The very social norms that, in his or her opinion, I had moved to a predominantly white neighborhood to partake in. (Forget the fact that I moved closer to my job.)  That person went on to say that by bringing our kids into that establishment, we robbed that environment of what many there pay to enjoy. And what I left my "own neighborhood" to get away from.

W-ow.

I got one or two other even more overtly offensive comments that I simply read once and then deleted. I realized that the post was obviously linked by someone somewhere and that this unusually ugly traffic was not doing my heart good. And this blog? I write it mostly to provoke thought and reflection-- but even more than that and along with that, I write it to celebrate humanity and human-kindness. Which almost always does my heart good.

Gag.

I know, I know. It sounds so sappy, right? But seriously? It's true. My usual party line when folks ask me about writing here is that "it's free therapy." I say that, but it's so much more than that. It's a place where we all show up with our brown skin, white skin, olive skin, thick skin, and our thin skin and feel alright. Where the believers rub elbows with the make-believers and the dis-believers, and where the elders pull up chairs right beside the teens.

It shrinks the world for me, too. When I read someone's comment and see words spelled like "favourite" and "realise" I smile big and wide. Realizing and realising that someone far away from me has something in common and that we are all so much more alike than we are different.

But those words I read this week. . . .oh, those nasty, venomous words. . . they fought hard to unravel that peaceful feeling and poison my mind. Troubling my waters and threatening me with some paranoia that I usually don't carry in my heart.

And so. I made a decision. I deleted every last one of those hateful comments. Then I tucked that post away in draft form. And yes, I know that the curious of you will want to either read the post (if you hadn't yet) or especially (hands rubbing together grubbily) see those comments word-for-word.

As for the latter, I assure you, you did not want to see those words. It would have done to you what it did to me. Left you with a feeling of dis-ease, akin to walking about with a hard pebble inside of your shoe. . . the kind of thing that makes doing something as everyday as walking feel uncomfortable and unnatural.

Yeah, like that.

Of course, I understand that people who leave comments behind a cloak of anonymity are. . .insert your favorite insult here. But still. They have hands that start up laptops and type over them just like me. Which means they exist and have feelings and beliefs and opinions.

Opinions such as:

"They got one foot in the penitentiary already, all they need is saggy pants."

Yep.

Sorry for putting that pebble in your shoe. But today? I'm shaking it right out. 'Cause me? I don't need no baggage. No, I don't.

And.

I just have to believe that human beings are inherently good. I just have to. Even if I am wrong about that, I have to hold that belief in my chest pocket as the gospel.

To survive, I must.

So I've said it before and will say it again: thank you for reading. Thank you for helping me to keep these beliefs in my grasp -- that human beings are more alike than different, and that yes, there is still human-kindness nestled deep down inside of humankind.

Yes, there is.

And you know?  That's my favorite part of it all. (And my favourite part, too.)

That's all I got today.

***
Happy Friday.

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . . Zachary's favorite, favourite version of this song. (Curtis Mayfield, second place and Eva Cassidy, third.)