I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Category: The Way Life Is

  • images of change – pandemic style

    images of change – pandemic style


    Gamecock women’s basketball – March, 2020

    Guard LeLe Grissett, Gamecock Garner, me and Pretty

    Pretty and me at SEC tournament – March, 2021

    Our spirits were high as we drove away from the SEC women’s basketball tournament in Greenville, South Carolina on March 08, 2020. Pretty and I were riding with our gay boys basketball buddies Garner and JD, our Gamecock women’s basketball team had just won the tournament championship for five out of the last six years, everyone in our car (and many other fans in the Gamecock nation) looking forward to post season play, and let’s be real, talking about a possible second national championship. Our team finished the season ranked #1 in the polls, but that ranking would surely be tested in post season play.

    Until it wasn’t. Three days later on March 11th the World Health Organization declared the coronavirus a/k/a Covid-19 to be a pandemic. The next day the NCAA cancelled the men’s and women’s basketball post season tournaments. March Madness, the term reserved for the race to basketball championships, took on new meaning. In 2020 the Madness went, literally, viral.

    Although our Gamecock women managed to play their regular  season in the fall of 2020 with cardboard fans sitting in the student section, no band played on; cheerleaders who were socially distanced – waving garnet and white pompoms – tried to lift the morale of the 3,500 masked lucky fans allowed to occupy designated seats in the 18,000 capacity Colonial Life Arena. Pretty went to two home games during the season, but I didn’t want to risk the exposure to the virus so I watched the televised games or listened to the radio coverage when TV wasn’t available. Thank goodness for my trusted transistor radio which never misses a game. (Pretty encourages me to ask Alexa to play the game on the radio for me, but I tell her Alexa hasn’t been there for me as long as my real radio has.)

    One year and two Pfizer vaccinations later for me, Pretty and I went back to Greenville on March 06th. for the 2021 SEC tournament. We wanted to watch our Gamecock women play Tennessee in the semi-final, a revenge game for the loss they handed us during the regular season – a loss that ended our 31-game win streak for regular season play in the SEC. We were fired up and ready to go.

    I could hardly escape the irony of my first safely vaccinated outing as we drove home from Greenville last Saturday night. The Gamecocks did win against Tennessee that night (and won the tournament again the following day) – Pretty and I were almost as euphoric as we had been during the drive home in 2020. Yet, changes were everywhere. We were without our basketball buddies, we had to wear masks to be admitted to the game, very few fans scattered in our section for social distancing, still no live school bands, the arena resembled a community teetering on the brink of becoming a ghost town with unrecognizable citizens.

    Despite the tragedies that defined 2020, despite the deeply felt losses of family and friends to Covid, despite the changes that challenged our way of life – I feel hope again. I am so proud of the Democrats in Congress and President Biden who delivered on a campaign promise for an American Rescue Act that will begin to restore security for citizens who are struggling with basic needs for their loved ones. Food, housing, jobs, small businesses, farmers – a chance to breathe again. A chance for opportunity to do better.

    My tiny version of hope also took place at a women’s basketball tournament last weekend where I was still able to sit with my wife and enjoy a few hours that reminded me of a time not very long ago and certainly not far away. It felt good to do something ordinary, even if the ordinary was not quite the same.

    This week has been a blockbuster. Pretty got her first Moderna vaccination. Our 17 months old granddaughter Ella was with us on our screen porch during a perfectly gorgeous early spring day and we added Amy Winehouse songs to her playlist. Life is good.

    Stay safe, stay sane and please stay tuned.

  • we are all Wonder Women


    Huge thanks to my good Sister Marla Wood for posting this powerful image on her FB page. I thought when I saw it, wow, this is a great theme for Women’s History Month. Let’s get down to it.

    In March, 2021 women are in powerful positions across the globe. Vice President Kamala Harris cast a deciding vote in the US Senate March 04th. to break a tie (50 Democrats for – 50 Republicans against) beginning debate on President Biden’s massive $1.9 trillion Covid Relief Bill approved by the House of Representatives. Bi-partisan support for the bill? No, not really.

    But the first woman veep in American history who also serves constitutionally as President of the Senate said hey boys, either jump on this train to help people who are sick, jobless, grieving the loss of loved ones, struggling to keep food on the table and/or a roof over their heads for their children because of a pandemic the previous administration chose to ignore as science fiction – or don’t. This train is leaving the station.

    Celebrate Women’s History Month by discovering the Wonder Woman you are!

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    Stay safe, stay sane and please stay tuned.

  • Henry Louis Gates, Jr.: these are his stories, these are his songs

    Henry Louis Gates, Jr.: these are his stories, these are his songs


    “The church is the oldest, the most continuous and most important institution ever created by the African American people.” — Henry Louis Gates, Jr. told Jeffrey Brown of PBS in an interview about his new four hour two-part documentary The Black Church: This is Our Story, This is Our Song that premiered on PBS in February as a salute to Black History Month. Gates should know since he is the writer, host and executive producer of the film aimed at telling the amazing stories of the people who shaped not only religion but also politics and culture through more than 400 years of black American life in this country.

    Johnson & Johnson, one of the corporate sponsors of the documentary, introduced the PBS special with these words: “Not all black American stories are simple or easy to tell, but for many years Henry Louis Gates, Jr. has told them like no one else by rediscovering lost narratives, correcting historical misconceptions, resurrecting forgotten heroes. Johnson & Johnson has been with him through all these years and will still be along for this incredible journey.”

    From the primitive Praise House on St. Helena Island, one of the sea islands in Beaufort County on the lower coast of South Carolina, to the historic Mother Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston that was the site of the massacre of nine members including pastor Clementa Pinckney in June, 2015, the black church in the United States has helped to define the journey of African Americans from enslavement to emancipation, from Jim Crow to public lynchings, from segregation to Civil Rights.

    Dr. Gates (PhD from Cambridge) is internationally recognized and respected as an author, literary critic, professor, public intellectual, documentary film producer, essayist and historian whose life-long passion for black history focuses on weaving the African American experience into the fabric of a multi-racial, multi-cultural community that delineates his hope for the country he calls home. He serves currently as the Alphonse Fletcher University Professor and Director of the Hutchins Center for African and African American Research at Harvard University.

    Sound stuffy? Not so much. One of my favorite scenes in the Black Church documentary (that I’ve now watched two times!) is the visit by Dr. Gates to the Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta where Patrice Turner, a Director of Worship and Arts as well as an accomplished gospel pianist, sits at a piano in a large empty worship auditorium with only Dr. Gates standing next to the piano, clapping, singing, thoroughly enjoying two favorite spirituals “Ride On, King Jesus” no man can hinder thee and “Great Gettin’ Up Morning” fare ye well, fare ye well. Thank you, Jesus! he exclaimed when the music stopped.

    Clearly the documentary celebrates not only the enduring faith of Henry Louis Gates, Jr. but also acknowledges the shortcomings of the black church in its dealings through the years with sexism, homophobia and domestic violence. For example, one of the unresolved questions today is where is the black church in Black Lives Matter?

    We celebrate Black History Month in February every year, and this year I choose to honor a living historian whose stories inspire me and whose songs lift me up from the inharmonious existence of a Covid-19 universe. Thank you, Dr. Gates!

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    Stay safe, stay sane and please stay tuned.

  • troubles in texas

    troubles in texas


    Our thoughts for the past few days have turned south and west toward my home state of Texas, and Pretty’s second home state with me when we were bi-stateual from 2010 – 2014. We are a thousand miles from our Worsham Street neighborhood in Montgomery, Texas which this week has been under seige by a deep winter freeze that blanketed the entire state with snow, ice, wintry mix, whatever term the weather people choose to give the vicious storm creating havoc with the safety and daily needs of all citizens of the Lone Star State.

    We are deeply concerned for our family and friends who call Texas home – some without power, some without water, some with no phone service, some with very little food, most without heat for 4 – 5 days – and indeed, all the people of Texas and the surrounding area who have been affected by yet another disaster.

    Thanks to my cousin Nita Jean in Austin who shared this photo:

    her neighbor’s backup water stash

    A pandemic called Covid continues to claim lives every day in Texas, South Carolina, the United States, worldwide even in the midst of earthquakes, fires, hurricanes, and other disasters. My cousin Diane in Texas said tonight, “What’s next, locusts?”

    Wishing our family and friends in Texas (and all of you in cyberspace) safety and sanity in these troubling times. Please stay tuned.

    The Lone Star State flag flies with the US flag in Montgomery, Texas

  • This is Dedicated to the One I Love

    This is Dedicated to the One I Love


    Return with me to those thrilling days of yesteryear, actually twenty years ago this week, to meet Pretty who magically changed from being a close friend and confidante before the spontaneous trip to Cancun pictured above in February, 2001 to a woman who was hotter than the salsa we had with dinner at La Destileria the first night we were there. And trust me, that salsa was hot.

    Pretty owned a feminist bookstore called Bluestocking Books in Columbia when we first met in the early 1990s – a small independent bookstore devoted to providing alternative literature mixed with the classics. Bluestocking quickly became known as a safe place for people seeking information on the growing queer community in South Carolina with the extra bonus of an attractive young lesbian proprietor who greeted everyone with a beautiful smile.

    Pretty was “out” in a conservative state in a tumultuous era. She was ahead of her time with Bluestocking which closed after three years, but her contribution to the LGBTQ community was recognized and appreciated. She served on the original board of directors for the SC Gay and Lesbian Business Guild formed in 1993 and was the second president of that organization. Her passion for equality was the catalyst for an activist’s life, a passion we shared professionally over the decade that was the 1990s.

    At the turn of the century, change was in the air. It was like everyone suddenly realized time was passing faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive and if Superman and Wonder Woman were unlikely to intervene in the chaos and/or uninspiring sameness of our lives, we needed to make radical changes ourselves.

    Both Pretty and I were in long term lesbian relationships that experienced seismic shifts as the first year of the new century came to a close. Our partners began looking for love in other places. Pretty had the additional drama associated with sharing custody of a fifteen year old son who she adored, an athletically gifted teenager who was the quarterback of his high school football team and the starting pitcher for their baseball team. She mixed her real estate appointments in her new career as a realtor with her tennis league schedules. Tennis had priority status.

    The trip to Cancun was the launching pad for the most adventurous ride of my life. I had no way of knowing then that the gorgeous intelligent intellectually inquisitive woman with the wonderful sense of humor who grew up in New Prospect, South Carolina would marry the woman from deep in the heart of Richards, Texas and that we would be together for the next twenty years sharing a life unimaginable to me as a child. Yet, here we are – still laughing at each other’s jokes, still loving, still standing. And yes, still eating Mexican food as often as our older appetites allow; but now with the additional delight of sharing quesadillas with our sixteen months old granddaughter who is perfection personified. Life is good.

    How do I love thee, Pretty? Let me count the ways, and let me begin with the spicy salsa you have always brought to our family life together for two decades. Unbelievable. Inconceivable. Somewhere in a distant childhood we must have done something good.

    Happy 20th Anniversary, Pretty.

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    Stay safe, stay sane and please stay tuned.