Listen now (3 mins) | Not long ago, I was facilitating a community session in Minneapolis focused on racial reconciliation. Sheila, a middle-aged Black woman, attended the session. As often happens when I share my upbringing in racially segregated Mississippi, others feel compelled to share their own stories. One thing I’ve learned is that stories always elicit stories.
What a revelation for these two former neighbors! Your talk was able to give Sheila a completely different understanding of her relationship with her parents--I'd consider that a superpower! And the fact of Marjorie's parents behaving as they did but herself knowing how wrong it was turned a page forward for all of us. One sign of hope for today--thank you!
So amazing when those stories come out--I wish we had been more open with each other in the 19th century, when race relations were so hot they couldn't even be admitted, much less discussed. We might have been able to have had a real and lasting reconstruction after that stupid war. We might not still be clinging to the lies our parents had been told. We might have really lived up to the promise of our Constitution, or almost anyway!
Like a quilt, each square by itself is unique, but when assembled it forms a
“tapestry” that tells a beautiful story. Here's to more sharing. We may all find out that even with different backgrounds/upbringing we have stories with similarities.
I once heard that there are two kinds of stories: those that reveal and those that conceal. I think the latter can become so real to the storyteller that they can't distinguish it, so the truth is also hidden from them. So much is buried, and we need encouragement, support, and unconditional love to dig through it all. And when it comes to race, the resistance to looking at our own truths become especially difficult.
What a revelation for these two former neighbors! Your talk was able to give Sheila a completely different understanding of her relationship with her parents--I'd consider that a superpower! And the fact of Marjorie's parents behaving as they did but herself knowing how wrong it was turned a page forward for all of us. One sign of hope for today--thank you!
Yes, I cherish this memory and the courage of these two women to share their grief so openly. No one is left unchanged.
So amazing when those stories come out--I wish we had been more open with each other in the 19th century, when race relations were so hot they couldn't even be admitted, much less discussed. We might have been able to have had a real and lasting reconstruction after that stupid war. We might not still be clinging to the lies our parents had been told. We might have really lived up to the promise of our Constitution, or almost anyway!
I think in a way, we each hold the key to another's sanity. But sharing it takes a lot of courage because it says a lot about us as well.
Knowing Minneapolis racial history, I immediately guessed why Shiela was locked in the attic, but never saw the next story coming.
What amazing things are revealed when people have a safe place to listen and be heard.
I think I will bring this story to my circle at Peace House.
It blew me away, as it did the rest of the group. One of those moments that people sense is sacred and sit in wonder, silent.
Like a quilt, each square by itself is unique, but when assembled it forms a
“tapestry” that tells a beautiful story. Here's to more sharing. We may all find out that even with different backgrounds/upbringing we have stories with similarities.
I once heard that there are two kinds of stories: those that reveal and those that conceal. I think the latter can become so real to the storyteller that they can't distinguish it, so the truth is also hidden from them. So much is buried, and we need encouragement, support, and unconditional love to dig through it all. And when it comes to race, the resistance to looking at our own truths become especially difficult.