A friend recently posted a great article about Cracker Barrel restaurants. It was a well written piece by a young man who ruminated on the sociology and political aspects of the national chain, noting that behind the hokey facade, the restaurant had once been far from the welcoming place that it now appears to be. He spoke of a time of innocence when he and his family traveled from Houston to the north stopping at every Cracker Barrel along their route, oblivious to the chain’s sometimes racist past. He wondered if he might have viewed the place in a different light had he always known that its founders from Tennessee had at one time perpetrated the Jim Crow policies of the past. I suppose that Cracker Barrel is one of those eateries that evinces different responses from different people. It may be viewed as a bastion of old time comfort food or a fat farm filled with dishes that defile the human body. Some may enjoy the quirky gift shop or laugh at it in disdain. Others may feel uncomfortable in an atmosphere that reminds them of a time in the south that wasn’t always kind to all people. I suspect that most people simply like the place for its rather reliable menu when traveling on the road and are blissfully unaware of any skeletons in its closet. For me it is a place that evokes fond memories of Friday nights with my mom. Continue reading “Life is a Garden”
Category: Family
Morning Will Come
The State of the Union speech last evening reminded me how quickly time goes by. Eight years ago I was not yet in my sixties. I was still working at KIPP Houston High School and my mother was not only alive but appeared to be incredibly healthy. Most of my grandchildren were still toddlers or very young school children. It would have been impossible for me to even imagine the many changes that have taken place in my life and the world at large. As is the usual case with most of us I assumed that things would continue just as they were back then. It never occurred to me that I would lose loved ones and good friends in the coming years. I was not even thinking about retirement nor did I ever consider that one day I would spend hours writing every single day. I barely knew some of the people who are now so important to me. I was completely caught up in my day to day routine and had little time to reflect on where I had been, where I was, or where I hoped to go. In other words I tended to take everything for granted. Continue reading “Morning Will Come”
Wolves in the Woods
Most of us think of Disneyland when we imagine the fairytales of our youth. It is an imaginary world filled with beautiful princesses who always overcome challenges and find true love with a handsome prince. The villains are scary but easily overcome by goodness and justice. The tales come from a long tradition of folklore and were most notably made popular by the Brothers Grimm. What few of us know is that a French lawyer and sometime author who worked in the court of Louis XIV first wrote about Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Puss in Boots, and Little Red Riding Hood more than two hundred years before the stories that we know today were penned. That man was Charles Perrault and he is featured in today’s Google drawing. This is his three hundred eighty eighth birthday.
Perrault’s tales were less enchanting and more instructive than the stories as we know them today. His intent was to provide children lessons in the pitfalls of living. He wrote in a dark and frightening tone, emphasizing the potential evil in the world rather than the light heartedness of romance. His tale of Little Red Riding Hood served as a warning to young girls about the potential of trouble when traveling alone. The wolf in his tale was a charmer, capable of disarming an innocent young lady. Only when it was too late would she realize his evil intentions. Perrault’s descriptions of the wolf devouring one of his victims was purposely terrifying. He wanted his readers to understand that naively engaging with a predator most often resulted in disastrous consequences. Continue reading “Wolves in the Woods”
Finding Your Roots
We all want to know who we are. Many, like me, do a bit of genealogical searching for answers regarding our roots. It can be a frustrating but often rewarding experience that gives us a better idea of who are ancestors were, where they lived, and sometimes even what they may have been like. My own experience has been remarkable on the one hand but sadly fruitless on the other. I have been able to trace the lineage of my paternal grandmother, Minnie Bell Smith, all the way back to the early history of Norway when names of people were almost impossible to pronounce. I have been relieved to note that none of the people who came before me in that branch of the family appear to have owned slaves or taken up questionable causes. Through the women in particular I have distant connections to famous English politicians and royalty but ultimately my grandmother’s people appear to have lived hard scrabble lives marked by struggles and journeys from one place to another. Continue reading “Finding Your Roots”
My Name is Nickerson
Way back in 1956, when I was seven years old I received an invitation to a birthday party for the daughter of my father’s best friend. Her name was Shirley and she was a great deal older than I was. In fact she attended Hartman Junior High at the time. She was blonde, beautiful and always nice to me so she became a kind of goddess in my eyes. Shirley introduced me to rock and roll and showed me how to dance. When my family visited with hers she always took me to her room and entertained me as though I was an equal to her. Of course I adored her so when my mother told me that I was going to get to accompany Shirley and some of her school friends to a movie on her birthday I was over the moon with excitement.
A bit of controversy revolving around me put a monkey wrench in the plans. Shirley had wanted to see Trapeze, a story involving a love triangle between Burt Lancaster, Gina Lollobrigida, and Tony Curtis all set under the big top of a circus. My mother was concerned that the material in that movie might be a bit too adult for me and so Shirley’s mom made a last minute decision to take all of us to see Moby Dick instead. This put me in a most unfortunate predicament with Shirley’s friends who complained that I was too immature to be part of their celebration anyway. I recall feeling quite uncomfortable as the group grudgingly accepted the change in venue. As it ultimately turned out I think that I was far more traumatized by the violence from the infamous white whale than I would have been by the romantic scenes in the circus plot. Nonetheless the damage had already been done and I had my introduction to one of the most revered stories in American literature, Moby Dick. Continue reading “My Name is Nickerson”
All It Takes Is A Little Love 