"It is not the critic who counts rather, the credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who knows the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at best knows in the end the high achievement of triumph and who at worst, if he fails while daring greatly, knows his place shall never be with those timid and cold souls who know neither victory nor defeat." - President Theodore Roosevelt
TO MY HERO, POP LESLIE:
Over the past 27 years I watched as you were fired by a black female boss for placing our engagement photo on your desk, CHASTISED for daring openly to date, then marry a white woman, WALKED 5 miles in 3 feet of snow to pick up your paycheck so the babies would have diapers, WENT TO WORK at 6 AM, came home @ 6 PM, drove me to work then got a few hours rest before packing up our young children in the car to turn around and pick me up from my job at 4 AM…
I remember seeing you fly down the street after a child who called our daughter an OREO while smacking her with a stick, can still hear your voice talking quietly but firmly to another black man who tried to explain to you why your third grade daughter was being forced to read a book which told her that “all light-skinned blacks are the result of a white slave owner raping a black woman “ … telling him that was very far from the truth as you could get…and I remember another quiet but firm conversation you had with a white man, my own father, when he had embraced you but couldn’t quite accept my younger sister’s lesbian partner coming over for Christmas dinner…somehow you got through to him in your special way…
I remember you chased a crazy man down the street who had just called you a FAGGOT and me a NIGGER-FUCKIN’ BITCH…I remember how you held him up against the wall and said, “ So help me God what I could do to you but won’t because I have a family that needs me and you aren’t going to take that away from me MISTER…”
I will never forget the years you would wake up in a cold sweat from that strange god-awful nightmare that plagued you for years…running in the dark, being chased…the sounds of dogs, men breathing, running, being lifted up, then passing out…all went dark…and then that ancestral dream was healed…when your Mom told us about Uncle Marty who was hung from a tree…in Georgia…and his twin brother, your grandpop saw it happen…helpless to do anything !
I wish I didn’t have to remember how you tried to walk and tried to feed yourself after that fateful accident 10 years ago…suffering hours, days, weeks and months…yes, years of painful physical therapy until you could finally walk and yes even run again only to be faced months later with a sudden rapid decline in your eyesight…learning to walk again with a long white cane, staying up all night while I worked 3 jobs to support us, coming home to find you slumped over the kitchen counter on a stool trying to teach yourself Braille…watching as you threw your walking stick across the yard in a fit of rage over losing your sight and moments later burst into laughter as the dogs returned it to you thinking you wanted to just play…and indeed you did…the dogs became your trusted companions…
I watched in horror as we walked into a courtroom where a Child Protective Services worker told the judge, “there is no father in the home…” and our lawyer screamed, “who do you think this man is…the BUTLER????”
I remember hearing you tell off your cane instructor from the Blindness Mobility training program who told you that “your sighted spouse doesn’t understand you…” and your response was, “and you do??”
I watched as you learned to feed yourself again, learn to walk all over again, as you struggled to get out even the shortest sentence coherently…I watched as the City tried to take away our dogs that you let out into the yard every time a vindictive neighbor trespassed on our property…AGAIN…I watched as they walked through our beautiful home, trying to find an excuse to place our beautiful, talented daughters into foster care…thank GOD for angels and GOOD LAWYERS…
AND THIS WEEK I WATCHED as, once again, you were told you were “making it up”, being overly sensitive and needed to “get over yourself”…or that somehow you wanted to elicit PITY of all things…
LESLIE, DEAR, you could have sat in a wheelchair collecting disability and plenty of pity if you wanted to have people lead you around for the rest of your life but
NO…NOT YOU…NOT THE LT. COL’S SON…that wasn’t good enough for you…
Every day you ride public transportation in your full-time job, investigating abuse of other disabled persons whom you describe as “worse off than me…”
AND THAT IS JUST THE TIP OF THE ICEBERG…
BUT NEVER FORGET that your pride and your stubbornness are your life line…and WE, YOUR FAMILY ARE PROUD of you…
SO IGNORE ALL THOSE WHO SAY THEY UNDERSTAND…
AND PRAY FOR THEM THAT THEY NEVER WILL KNOW FIRST HAND HOW MUCH WE HAVE ENDURED, HOW MUCH WE HAVE SUFFERED AND STILL DECIDED TO
KEEP ON KEEPIN’ ON !!!!