I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Category: LGBTQ+

  • Mama Mia, ABBA made me a Dancing Queen

    Mama Mia, ABBA made me a Dancing Queen


    Dancing Queen? Just kidding. Anyone who has seen me on a dance floor from the time my mother tried to teach me how to rock n roll with Dick Clark and American Bandstand after school in the living room of our home in Richards, Texas to dancing with Pretty and our granddaughters in their kitchen to Roe, Roe, Roe, your Vote – anyone who has seen me try to dance will say gosh, Sheila can still carry a tune plus she’s got rhythm but Lordy, that old woman can’t dance.

    I may not be a Dancing Queen, but ABBA will always be my favorite musical group, my go-to songs when I think I can dance.

    Last week I watched the movie Mama Mia with Meryl Streep and a bunch of other people I know and like because it’s on my list of all time favorite movies and because I had a round of the epizooti. It was so good I watched it twice and then moved on to The Devil Wears Prada. I only watched it once, though, you’ll be pleased to know.

    Since I was in a prone position with no urges to dance, I listened to the words of a beautiful, slower tempo song from Mama Mia that Meryl sang in a poignant scene with her daughter. Beyond the obvious feelings I have now with my granddaughters, I can also connect the words to my relationship with Pretty. Life is often slipping through our fingers all the time.

    “Slipping Through My Fingers”

    Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning
    Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile
    I watch her go with a surge of that well known sadness
    And I have to sit down for a while
    The feeling that I’m losing her forever
    And without really entering her world
    I’m glad whenever I can share her laughter
    That funny little girl

    Slipping through my fingers all the time
    I try to capture every minute
    The feeling in it
    Slipping through my fingers all the time
    Do I really see what’s in her mind
    Each time I think I’m close to knowing
    She keeps on growing
    Slipping through my fingers all the time

    Sleep in our eyes, her and me at the breakfast table
    Barely awake I let precious time go by
    Then when she’s gone, there’s that odd melancholy feeling
    And a sense of guilt I can’t deny
    What happened to the wonderful adventures
    The places I had planned for us to go
    Well, some of that we did, but most we didn’t
    And why, I just don’t know

    Slipping through my fingers all the time
    I try to capture every minute
    The feeling in it
    Slipping through my fingers all the time
    Do I really see what’s in her mind
    Each time I think I’m close to knowing
    She keeps on growing
    Slipping through my fingers all the time

    Sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture
    And save it from the funny tricks of time

    Slipping through my fingers…

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

    Overheard in her playhouse from two-year-old Molly this weekend: “Naynay, I’ll never leave you.”

  • Pride Time is Anytime and Fun Times!

    Pride Time is Anytime and Fun Times!


    This coaster has been on my office desk for as long as I can remember – the office has been in five different homes over the past twenty-three years, but the coaster lingers on. Clearly worse for the wear, and not nearly as clever as Marla Wood’s images, but I remember how “Big” Dear Abbey was back in the day and still get a chuckle whenever I take time to digest the sentiment.

    Totally unrelated to Pride

    – except the pride Pretty and I have for our granddaughters four-year-old Ella and two-year-old Molly. We were at their house this past week, and the girls love to pretend to be Princesses in their dresses so their dog Sadie stands guard while Ella directs the play. The role of the Prince is often assigned to yours truly; Ella continues to believe I was born for the part. Bless her heart.

    This card was sent to us at Christmas years ago by our friends Cindy and Sandy who immigrated to Tennessee and became Lady Volunteer basketball fans during the Summit era. Pretty had saved it somewhere in the deep recesses of her treasures and recently retrieved it. I had to laugh again.

    another Christmas card from our past – this is pure Pride

    Happy Father’s Day to all proud dads everywhere!! Hope your weekend is festive and filled with pride in your children, their children, and all children to come.

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

    Slava Ukraini. For the children.

  • Season’s Greetings – no, not THAT season

    Season’s Greetings – no, not THAT season


    Oh gosh, the old gray mare ain’t what she used to be. She thinks it’s December – not June, right? Sad.

    Not to worry or despair, o ye cyberspace friends and followers. Blame Pretty for this one because yesterday she found a large decorative storage box full of Christmas cards we hadn’t looked through in twenty years. That’s right. Twenty years. As I waded through the memories, I found two rainbow greeting cards sent by two gay men named Chuck with different last names in different years, both of whom are now deceased.

    That struck me as more than a random coincidence as we begin to celebrate Pride during the month of June, 2024.

    So in memory of two friends who are no longer with me, Chuck Heath and Chuck Bowen, I wish you all a Happy Pride! Celebrate the season wherever you are.

  • Ella surprises Pretty on her birthday

    Ella surprises Pretty on her birthday


    4-year-old Ella in a very special vintage Esprit dress

    What could be a more awesome birthday gift for your 64th. birthday than to see your granddaughter wearing a dress you bought when you were pregnant with your son in 1985? For Pretty whose birthday was yesterday, nothing could have made her happier than to see the dress she had carefully preserved for nearly forty years finally being worn by a child she loved with all her being.

    In the 1970s technologies made it possible to determine the sex of a fetus before the baby was born; however, these measures were not popular until the 1990s which meant that in 1985 in Columbia, South Carolina when Pretty was pregnant during the very hot summer months and shopping for fashionable clothes for her baby to be, she had no idea that instead of a dainty little baby girl who would treasure a fashionable Esprit dress when she was four years old, she would have a 10 lb. 8 oz. baby boy who probably could have worn that dress on the day he was born.

    Occasionally during the past twenty-three years we’ve been together Pretty would take the dress out of the box, remind me of its history, then carefully fold to put it back. That dress represented so much to her and to know Pretty is to understand she finds it nearly impossible to let anything go, but several weeks ago she told me she thought it would fit our older granddaughter perfectly so maybe the dress needed a new home.

    When Ella’s dad saw her in the dress yesterday and learned its history, he was astonished and said it fit her perfectly, like it had been bought for her – and of course it had. Hopefully one day it will fit perfectly for Molly.

    Happy Birthday to Pretty a/k/a Mom a/k/a Nana a/k/a Neena who recognized the love from her family as the most important gift of all time. You are our treasure.

  • some goodbyes are more painful than others

    some goodbyes are more painful than others


    From 1977 to 1991, the North Carolina Tar Heels aired on WBT AM which was a 50,000-watts radio station in Charlotte, North Carolina. Charlotte was 90 miles north of Columbia, South Carolina so reception for the Tar Heels basketball and football games was scratchy in the best of times. In 1982 the Tar Heels won their second of six NCAA men’s basketball championships, and somewhere around that time two men who were introduced at lunch by a mutual friend because he knew they shared a common interest in all things Tar Heels – these two men in their thirties decided they would drive to the outer edges of the army base at Fort Jackson which was ten miles outside of Columbia to get better reception to sit in their car and listen to whatever games North Carolina had on the air.

    Their passion for the Tar Heels resulted in a friendship between Dick Hubbard and Fred Roper that lasted for the next four decades, past the little WBT radio station broadcasts to the luxury of Big Screen TVs that went from black-and-white to color on ESPN and Fox networks to streaming whenever and wherever they wanted to watch. Together. Occasionally an outsider was invited to share the fun, but mostly it was Dick and Fred.

    All good times come to an end, and last week Dick called me to say he had lost his best male friend. Fred had been ill for a number of years, and his husband Jon had found him unresponsive at home that morning. The EMS responders were unable to resuscitate him.

    We live in an age where friendships are often seasonal, random, difficult to maintain. People change, move on, move away, lose interest, stop working on friendships; but in a world where platonic friendships may not be celebrated with the same fanfare we offer our married friends’ anniversaries, I’d like to say congratulations to Dick for being a loyal, devoted friend to Fred in sickness and in health.

    Rest in peace, Fred. You will be missed by many of us, and your Tar Heels owe you another title. Maybe next year, but it won’t be the same without you.

    ;