First Time Is The Hardest

As we traveled I35 from Kansas City to Saint Paul, I remembered the first time. Phil, Rebecca, and I were on that highway taking Blaise, my son, to Macalester College. We had been up most of the night meticulously checking off recently purchased supplies from the suggested needs list. There had been piles of paper, boxes and stuff underfoot. We were excited with thoughts of what this new road held for Blaise and us and at the same time filled with the dread of separation. That was four year ago--four years since we moved Blaise into a freshman dorm with other scarred boys and girls, four years since we sat in that gym overlooking 400 plus empty chairs--one for each new student, ears bent toward the mournful sound of bagpipes as the players led our children in like piped pipers to a place where they would be forever changed. It was not easy batting away tears that swelled involuntarily into my eyes nor battling the loneliness that settled upon me even as I sat in a nearby hotel. We left a boy in a tiny room; he returned a matured, confident young man-- unfolding, reaching, searching for ...God knows what. Discovery is the journey!

One hour outside of Saint Paul, I realized it was somewhat different this time. Yeah, the excitement was there and a little sadness too at the realization that we had planned his journey thus far but now, four years later, the road taken or not taken is up to him. Will he plan his journey well or simply drift?

Hearts Made Of Stone

What breaks your heart? When I was a little kid, there was this song called,"Hearts Made of Stone," or something like that. I almost always remember some part of the lyrics to songs that I suppose came at some formative period in my life. Anyway, it went like "Hearts made of stone will never break...."

I went with Rachael of CCO to this ministers forum on Ward Parkway--beautiful Ward Parkway. Quite a contrast with 31st Street. There was an interesting question poised, "What breaks your heart?" Most of the meeting was introspective. The Pastor spoke of Jesus in the temple overturning tables and somewhere the question--rhetorical as I remember. When I came back to the Center, Ms. B sat outside in her wheelchair smoking of course with maybe three bags of groceries from the nutrition class beside her. She was waiting for her ride. I had to resist the tug to pick up those bags and wheel chair and wrestle them into my little truck and reverse the procedure after the ten mile drive, but I did! You see, it breaks my heart to see my almost chain smoking sister captive to this habit even though it is slowly robbing her of health a little bit at a time.

Little lady was waiting at the door. "Can I have some gym shoes. Mine are wet and they stink." We went inside for shoes only to be bombarded with accusations that she had called staff unconscionable names. It breaks my heart when trust and respect for another is long g o n e because we have long since lost self-respect.

Before we could settle the shoe issue, I learned that Ms. T. had taken a sack full of knitting yarn with my non-existent consent and had taken off. I took off too and found her sitting on the curb at the "pawn shop" her back to me and before the Mayor of 31st could cue her in I had the bag and was at my car door. It breaks my heart that those I love and would give my last to would feel that it's ok to steal from me--themselves.

It almost Mother's Day. Last Mother's Day I received a call in the pre-dawn. It was my son calling from the emergency room. He had been assaulted and robbed. He's like his mother. There was 1.00 in his billfold. My son was 600 miles from home and there was absolutely nothing to do but pray for our peace and that his injuries were not permanent. God granted me enough peace for the day or two and then I began to unravel. I could hear his screams in my imagination and see his assailants kicking and beating him. I hurt for him. Then, I remembered how, in my Christian tradition, God forsake His son to a beating....It breaks my heart.

Ms. B, Ms. Little lady, Ms. T. the assailants--all hurt people. In the words of the Bee Gees, "How do you mend a broken heart; how can a loser ever win....
I have some ideas and know that inner healing is real and possible. That keeps me on 31st Street.

Test--Pass Or Fail

Last night was a hum-dinger! That' so 60ish--the expression I mean. I got home after dropping my daughter, Rebecca at Target only to find my husband, Philip was stuck at his job because tornados were touching down. Imagine, daughter at the mall, sirens going off, husband stuck in another county and the storm moving my way. First impulse--get in the car and get daughter. After running that idea past Phil and being advised to stay put--the mall would not put people out in the middle of tornado activity, I switched gears and phoned him every few minutes--on his cell phone. I had to ask Rebecca for the number!

Phil got home just as the activity was centered over us--drove into the storm. Rebecca phoned. She had scanned the mall for faces--familiar ones in hopes of getting a ride. Thought about asking three young men.Oh, my God, that's terrifying. Fortunately, a former high school girlfriend came into the mall and she made it home to find that the sirens were starting to sound in her neighborhood. I passed the test! I didn't run out in the midst of the storm. Rebecca will probably have to take it again.

This morning it was as if nothing had happened with the exception of waking up with a half inch of water all around me. Phil insisted I get out of my bed and go downstairs just in case and I was too tired to move. Stayed on that uncomfortable sofa all night. Ever tried sleeping in an "L"?

Imagine this morning being hit up for 15.00 for gas by two innocent looking young ladies--white girls. They followed some guys to Kansas City and were staying with his friends. He had disappeared. "Where are you kids staying?" "We slept in an abandoned house." I asked what had happened to him and the older said he had called last night and was in jail. I sent them out of the office to privately check my tote bag for any sign of cash--usually there is none and today was no exception . But, I had a Quick Trip gift card somewhere, so I went into the waiting area and said, "Come in my office." The older girl said, "Oh, oh, we're in trouble." Then I gave the lecture about following some guy off...should be at home... The older girl says,"Yeah, I can't wait to get back to my country town."

I remembered the card was in the car. And when I got outside, these two chicks are sitting in the car with two guys! Hadn't I told them about the number of people I see trying to hustle us?
I leaned over and asked, "Why are you trying to get gas money from me when you got a man--naw (that's really county for no) two sitting in here. You got a man, you ought to have some money!" I asked the young men their names then I looked and to my surprise recognized one of the guys from, you know, 31st Street! He kept saying, "I'm just trying to show where the station is. They don't know...." And I wanted to say I'm boo-boo the fool too! Instead, I offered my mama's advice, "Don't be no sardine and soda cracker hustler." "Do you know what that means?" She looks and says," No-oo." I said, "You'll figure it out!" They failed the test.

Test come in various guises until we pass! Don't be no sardine and soda cracker hustler!