I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Category: Lesbian Literary

  • cool at the zoo


    Collins is in town and wants to go to the zoo, I texted Pretty yesterday afternoon; they’ve invited us to bring Ella and Molly to go with them. Collins is the five year old granddaughter of our good friends Francie and Nekki – Collins lives in Charleston but she and Ella went to the zoo together in the days before Molly was born so they weren’t strangers.

    Do you think it’s too cold to take the girls to the zoo? Pretty texted back. Of course, we think any temperature below 60 degrees is freezing. I know, I know. Ask the people who live in other parts of the country about cold – they will laugh at us. Ella is our three year old granddaughter, Molly just turned one year old last week, and we’re worried about a sunny mid afternoon with temps in the 50s.

    It’s a sunshiny day, I said, we’ll keep them warm. To the zoo we went.

    Collins (left) and Ella in zoo’s fun photo booth

    Francie and I crashed photo booth party –

    think the little girls had more fun without us

    we did see a tiger in between photo booth, carousel, playground…

    and souvenir shop

    Nana Pretty with grands watching the tiger –

    Molly taken with big striped cat, Ella studying caves

    Molly kept warm in stroller – had big time watching, absorbing new sights and sounds

    put me down, Naynay – I’d rather walk

    (won’t let he who shall remain nameless take my red hat away from me)

    thanks to Nekki for this last screenshot with Pretty, me and the kids

    this is how we roll with them now that Molly is walking, too

    Ella lives in her own world – we are privileged to share it when it suits her.

    Pretty sent this text to Francie and Nekki last night after we dropped Ella and Molly at home with their parents: “We had such a good time this afternoon. So funny to me that we now have our grandchildren playing together…”

    Next week Pretty and I have our 22nd. Anniversary; these two friends have been with us from the beginning. I know for sure I never dreamed of having these awesome little girls in a million years, but I have celebrated family in new ways with Pretty who brings the fun with her sense of humor that still makes me – and now our granddaughters – laugh.

    President John F. Kennedy said children are the living messages we send to a time we will not see. I love that idea and ask for wisdom to do my part in supporting these little girls with the same love, kindness, understanding and patience my grandmothers gave to me in a time long ago and far away but never forgotten.

    ***************

    Slava Ukraini. For the children.

  • prejudice by any other name is still prejudice

    prejudice by any other name is still prejudice


    Last night I had a conversation with my cousin Gaylen (son of Ray) who lives near the area demolished by a large tornado that swept south of Houston, Texas yesterday. Thankfully Gaylen and his family escaped damage, but I was surprised when he told me in the course of our chat a compelling account of a wedding in his family several years ago where prejudice and hate intruded like a tornado on a celebration of love. It reminded me of a letter our grandmother wrote my Uncle Ray just before WWII when Ray was working and living on his own in Houston. Today is a rainy dreary weather alert day that matches my feelings of  shame and sadness when I remember this exchange between my grandmother and her two sons who would be swept up in WWII in the European theater. 

    While the war took center stage in everyone’s mind in 1942 and my dad noticed that his hunting and fishing buddies in Richards, Texas had a younger sister, apparently hormones were also raging in my dad’s brother Ray who would have been almost twenty years old in April of 1942 when he received an unexpected letter in the mail from his mother. It was dated April 27th.

    “Dear Ray, Your daddy and I were tickled with your surprise visit this past weekend. You always have to work, and it was a treat for us to have you home for a whole weekend. I am pleased to see that your appetite is still good. I’ve never seen anyone love chicken and dumplings the way you do!

    Now, son, I need to have a serious talk with you about Geneva Walkoviak. I know that you had two dates with her while you were home. We can’t have you getting too serious about Geneva. And, I’m sure you know why. Even though she is pretty and seems sweet enough, the facts are that she is Polish and Catholic and those are two things that don’t mix in our family. You may not be able to appreciate the problems with that, but take my word for it. You stay with your own kind. Now, let’s leave it at that. I know you wouldn’t want to let us down.

    Try to make it home for your daddy’s birthday this summer.  All our love, Mama and Daddy”

    Polish. Catholic. Prejudice takes twists and turns through the years, decades, centuries. The names change, but the sentiments do not. Polish people in Richards at that time had a distinct accent – they were often first and second generation immigrants who farmed the contrary Texas land. The children rode a small yellow school bus to the red brick schoolhouse in town carrying the hopes and dreams of their families in tiny brown paper lunch bags. The men and boys got their haircuts at my grandfather’s barbershop. Their money, as is always the case in prejudice, was evidently neither Polish nor Catholic.

    Today bigotry is often based on what language is spoken, skin color, or country of origin. Hispanic refugees and others seeking asylum in this country are subjected to inhumane treatment that is unacceptable to all of us who respect the values our nation was founded on: everyone is entitled to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. We do not separate children from their mothers and then put them in prison camps. We’ve done that before to African-American slaves whose families were ripped apart and scattered to the four winds. That is not who we think we are. That is not who we are, is it?

    Catholics – Jews – Muslims. The religion roller coaster ride continues with death-defying speed and mind-boggling ticket prices.

    What a tangled web we weave in a small rural southeast Texas community consumed by the thought of a war in 1942, and yet my grandmother decided to set aside time to write a letter to my uncle which sadly exhibited the same kinds of prejudice that created anti-Semitism in Germany which was the impetus for the war in the first place, where a name like Walkoviak and a pretty Catholic girl named Geneva could become the target of pointed prejudice.

    I am ashamed and saddened by this letter. I do not find it surprising, however, because I remember my grandmother as a wonderful strong funny woman – but flawed. She would have been 39 years old when she wrote that revealing letter to her son. I’m not sure her positions changed during the next forty-five years of her life. She agonized over voting for the Democratic candidate John Kennedy in 1960 because of his Catholicism, for example; but I do recall she relented in later years when her grandson, one of Ray’s sons, married a Catholic girl.

    My dad, on the other hand, must have been blissfully unaware of the family drama because three months after his mother’s letter to his brother, he wrote to his parents following a visit  for his father’s birthday on July 29th. His father turned 44 on that birthday. This letter is dated August 1, 1942.

    “Dear Mama and Daddy, It was good to be home for Daddy’s birthday this week. I’m back at work today, and the grocery store is still standing. And, I’m still stocking shelves. Talk about boring. At least, it gives me money for school and to help Lucy and Terrell with the bills. It’s hard to believe I’ve been in Beaumont for a whole year. The War is the big topic on campus and off. Doesn’t look like we’re doing very good against the bad guys. Daddy, you better go up to Washington and see Mr. Roosevelt. I think he needs some good advice for a change. You could get things going in the right direction.

    I didn’t see much of Ray while we were home. He spends a lot of time with Geneva Walkoviak. She’s the only one he likes to spend money on. Of course, I guess you didn’t see much of me, either. Selma and I went to see the same movie three times. I’m beginning to like her more than her brothers.

    Probably won’t be home again until Christmas. The classes are a little harder this year. But, you’ll see that my grades are hanging in there really good. I want you to be proud of me. Your son, Glenn Morris”

    Obviously my uncle Ray rejected his mother’s ultimatum and continued to date the pretty Polish girl who happened to be Catholic. That made me smile.

    Throughout 1942 the impact of the war came closer and closer to home as more  young men enlisted – teenage boys were leaving their farms, day jobs, and classrooms to join the armed forces. They would soon cross oceans by sea and air to defend their country from the Axis powers.

    Ray and his mama

    my Uncle Ray 

    my grandfather George, my daddy Glenn and my grandmother Betha

    My Aunt Lucy

    ********************************

    Slava Ukraini. For the children.

  • a man of letters (8) – combat! January, 1945

    a man of letters (8) – combat! January, 1945


    In the summer of 2018, I published a series of letters my dad wrote during his life. I hadn’t read them since then, but sometimes the war in Europe jars my memories to an earlier war known as World War II. My dad was barely twenty years old at the time of his actual combat service and this series of letters – his brother Ray two years older – his sister Lucy three years older than Ray. Selma, the girl Daddy left behind in the little town of Richards, Texas where they both grew up, was a freshman at Baylor University – thanks to the generosity of her Uncle Clement who gave her the opportunity to go to college. My dad’s father was the only barber for miles with a barbershop that was the hub of the social gossip network supported primarily by my paternal grandmother who was everything to me when I came along two years later, ten months after the soldier returned to elope with the girl of his dreams. January, 1945 was such a pivotal time in history 77 years ago, but I imagine the same thoughts expressed by the soldiers in the war in Ukraine today in January, 2023 are universal longings for home and family.

    Three days after Christmas in 1944,  2nd. Lt. Glenn Morris flew the first of his 35 bombing missions over Germany with his crew of The Fortress. Their first target was Siegburg, a town near Bonn in the North Rhine – Westphalia region. That night he wrote Selma another letter, but the mission clearly shook him. This letter’s tone introduced a note of uncertainty about their relationship that he hadn’t expressed in his previous ones.

    (the only letter with blue markings)

    censorship or Selma?

    “Dearest Darling,

    I’ve often wondered if you couldn’t guess just how much I miss you at different times. You know, sometimes you are the only thing that makes me want to be back there. I could go on forever telling you that I see you everywhere I go & etc., but you’d enjoy that too much.

    In not so long a time I’ll be back with you. It already seems like ages to me. Do you ever sorta forget about me, unconsciously, I mean, just forget. That is one of the most horrible things I can think of. Well, enough of that.

    Tonight some of the guys wanted me to play on the Field team, but I had a rather hard day so, for once, I refused a basketball game.

    Well, Baby, I must go to sleep, for I am very tired, but not too tired to say goodnight to the one I love.

    Yours forever,

    Glenn”

    Selma, the girl back home

    On New Year’s Eve, their target was Kassel…then Magdeburg on New Year’s Day, 1945…next up was Modrath near Cologne on January 3rd…Cablenz on the 5th. – names of places he probably had a hard time spelling – much less pronouncing – but places he had to locate as the navigator for his crew of The Fortress.

    He had a break for eight days and wrote to his parents at home in Richards, Texas on January 8, 1945. His older brother Ray was also in England with the 8th. Air Corps. Ray worked on the ground crew for airplane maintenance and loaded the bombs for the flyboys.

    Glenn (l.) and Ray with their mother before the war

    Ray

    Ray (l.) and buddies on leave

    “Dear Folks,

    It shouldn’t be too long before I get a letter from you now. Klepps, the tail gunner, got 2 letters addressed to this APO, so if you’re not falling down on the job, I should be hearing from you very soon. I might say that I’ve missed those letters quite a bit. Tell Selma she’d better write every day or I’ll divorce her. That would be a low blow, wouldn’t it?

    Now Mama, don’t get alarmed, but I have a slight cold again. It’s the first one I’ve had in a long time. I take sulfa diazine tablets every day. That probably explains it. Other than the slight cold, I am O.K. I know there’s no use to tell you not to worry about me cause you’ve been doing that so long it’s got to be habit. There’s no use in your quitting now. Ha.

    I’m to see Ray once and for all next Sunday and Monday. Every 3 weeks we get 48 hour passes, and finally my turn is coming up. Here is part of our conversation.

    “Glenn! Glenn! Is that you?”

    “Yes, it’s me, Ray.”

    “Well, where have you been? You little devil what happened to you? I’ve been worried about you. How many missions have you flown? Etc.”

    He’s still the same old boy. Have you heard anything about Dick Merrill {a friend from Richards}? He’s probably a P.W. There’s a better than even chance he is.

    A mobile PX came here the other day. I bought 15 pounds worth of stuff. That’s about $60. I bought another blouse that I’m gonna have made into a battle jacket. They are sharp.

    Hoping to hear from you soon,

    Your oldest son,

    Glenn

    Tell Lucy to write to me.”

    Lucy

    Lucy (r.) and friend Maureen

    Glenn’s sister Lucy and Selma’s brother Charlie

    ( Charlie good friends with Glenn – Richards was a very small town)

    Charlie joined the Navy…

    ( along with Selma’s oldest brother Marion and cousin C.H.)

    Selma’s mother and oldest brother Marion in Richards

    Missions continued through January…Karlsruhe, a city near the French border where a large Jewish population had been deported to the Auschwitz concentration camp before the strike…then Paderborn… followed by Aschaffenberg in Bavaria…the largest target in January was Cologne which was a Military Area Command Headquarters for the German army and the fourth largest city in Germany…January ended with a second run over Coblenz.

    On January 22, 1945 in the midst of these military activities, Glenn took time to write to Selma who was back at Baylor University in Waco after her Christmas break.

    “Dearest Selma,

    I’m sorry again that I haven’t written you within the last few minutes. Are you getting my letters? I suppose you are. Very dull, isn’t it? I could tell you a lot, Baby, but better not. Will you settle for something new like, ‘I love you’? I know you get tired of that. It is so trite, yet so true.

    I got the scarf yesterday, and how did you know it was cold over here? It will really make old Ray’s eyes widen the next time I see him, which will be soon, I hope. He’s on pass now, I suppose. Funny thing, he can’t some to see me, but I can go to see him. He can, but he won’t. That girl in Doncaster takes up his time.

    Very peaceful scene tonite. Three of us around the stove writing letters and the radio going full tilt. I never had it so good. Still there is something missing. You, no doubt.

    Write to me often now, little girl. I love you,

    Glenn”

    Glenn

    The air strikes came fast and furious for the airmen in January of 1945 while all of their families and friends back home fretted about their safety. How many would come home, they wondered…we’ll wait with them for now.

    ******************

    Slava Ukraini. For the children.

     

  • BJU and Me: Queer Voices from the World’s Most Christian University

    BJU and Me: Queer Voices from the World’s Most Christian University


    “Bob Jones University is a Christian, fundamentalist, nondenominational liberal arts school in Greenville, South Carolina. BJU was founded in 1927 by Christian evangelist Bob Jones Sr., who was against the secularization of higher education and the influence of religious liberalism in denominational colleges. For most of the twentieth century, BJU branded itself as the ‘World’s Most Unusual University’ because of its separatist culture. Many BJU students come from fundamentalist communities and are aware of BJU’s strict rules and conservative lifestyle. So why would queer students enroll at BJU?

    A former queer student of BJU himself, Lance Weldy has come to terms with his own involvement with the institution and has reached out to other queer students to help represent the range of queer experience in this restrictive atmosphere. BJU and Me: Queer Voices from the World’s Most Christian University provides behind-the-scenes explanations from nineteen former BJU students from the past few decades who now identify as LGBTQ+. They write about their experiences, reflect on their relationships with a religious institution, and describe their vulnerability under a controlling regime.

    Some students hid their sexuality and graduated under the radar; others transferred to other schools but faced reparative therapy elsewhere; some endured mandatory counseling sessions on campus; while still others faced incredible obstacles after being outed by or to the BJU administration. These students give voices to their queer experiences at BJU and share their unique stories, including encounters with internal and/or external trauma and their paths to self-validation and recovery. Often their journeys led them out of fundamentalism and the BJU network entirely.” (back cover)

    Editor Lance Weldy is professor of English at Francis Marion University in Florence, South Carolina where Pretty and I met him in April, 2018 when he invited us to his campus to participate in Pride Week with a panel discussion of Southern Perspectives on the Queer Movement: Committed to Home, the stories of twenty-one pioneers in the establishment of organizations for the LGBTQ communities in South Carolina.

    l. to r. Michael, Lance, Pretty, me, Pat at the event on April 04, 2018

    When we were there, Lance told me about a writing project he was working on that also involved first person narratives of queer folks who had a Southern connection but his stories would focus more directly on his alma mater Bob Jones University. His project became this important work published by The University of Georgia Press in June, 2022.

    I am thrilled for Lance and for the queer students who are the brave survivors of persecution at BJU (a name with a double entendre not lost on them) for making their voices heard. Their oppression done in the name of religion follows a long history of odious acts performed by those identifying as true believers and the equally long tradition of those who refuse to succumb to that oppression.

    The book is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and other booksellers. Celebrate these stories – a part of the queer fabric that comprises the original coat of many colors.

    Onward.

  • it’s a simple matter of justice – remembering Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

    it’s a simple matter of justice – remembering Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.


    1993 March on Washington for LGBTQ Equality

    Thirty years ago this April I marched with the South Carolina delegation in the 1993 March on Washington. It was a life-changing experience not only for me but for hundreds of thousands of LGBTQ folks and their straight allies.

    I loved that the commemorative poster for the event featured a quote from one of the Civil Rights movement leaders I most admired: Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. The framed poster has been hanging in every office of mine since then.

    “Our freedom was not won a century ago, it is not won today,

    but some small part of it is in our hands,

    and we are no longer marching by ones and twos

    but in legions of thousands,

    convinced now it cannot be denied  by human force.”

    On this special holiday dedicated to you I say thank you for your example of nonviolent social justice change, your ultimate commitment to the possibilities of freedom for all, your powerful voice that spoke for those who could not speak for themselves. Rest in peace, Dr. King, but keep the living stirred up for equal justice for all people everywhere for as long we walk the earth.

    **************************

    Slava Ukraini. For the children.