I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

storytelling for truth lovers

  • 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.

  • two presidential debates scheduled for 2024: remember the first debate in 2016?

    two presidential debates scheduled for 2024: remember the first debate in 2016?


    The first presidential debate between Hilary Clinton and Donald Trump in the 2016 election took place on September 26, 2016. I tuned in, of course, and posted this piece the following day.

    The 400-Pound Hacker in the Room

    Donald Trump on our national security in the debate tonight:

    “Hackers could be anybody sitting on their beds weighing 400 pounds.”

    Whaaaaaaat? What did you say? What does that even mean?

    Donald Trump on foreign affairs:

    “I haven’t given lots of thought to NATO…I just know we have to knock the hell out of ISIS.”

    Really? Not much thought to the North Atlantic Treaty Organization? You might want to add that to your debate prep topics for next time.

    Donald Trump on the war in Iraq:

    “I was against the war in Iraq…all you have to do is call Sean Hannity and ask him. He knows I was against the war in Iraq.”

    Somebody please call Sean Hannity… and restore a little sanity.

    Donald Trump on deal-making in the Obama administration:

    “You almost can’t name a good deal they’ve made.”

    I can name that deal in three notes…or was that tune…deal, tune…whatever.

    Donald Trump on what it takes to be President:

    “To be President of the United States, you have to have the stamina.”

    It also helps to have an understanding of the job description.

    Hillary Clinton on preparation:

    “Yes, I prepared for this debate. I’ve also prepared to be President.”

    And with that I say to all good night and good luck.

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

    Never underestimate the importance of the presidential debates. Somewhere today a 400-pound hacker sits on his bed laughing uproariously.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • different war, different century – same Mother’s Day yearnings

    different war, different century – same Mother’s Day yearnings


    Pretty’s family isn’t big on specific dates so we celebrated Mother’s Day Wednesday with our family. Does the day really matter as long as someone celebrates, remembers, keeps a tradition of a mother’s love going…eleven years ago I published this post about a young American soldier in France in the 20th. century during WWI who tried to comfort his mother on Mother’s Day from a place that existed only in her imagination.

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

    The handwriting on the letters has almost faded away, the yellowed paper and envelopes  so torn and fragile I’m afraid to open them for fear they’ll disintegrate. The dates of the letters are in May of 1918, which I calculate to be 95 years ago this month. They are three letters written by a young Marine serving “somewhere” in France in World War I to his mother who evidently thought they were worthy of saving. Pretty discovered the letters  when she was on one of her fishing expeditions for treasures in old houses.  Occasionally on her adventures at yard sales or estate sales she finds words for me to read – words that someone saved for a reason. No longer wanted by family, they’re sometimes stuck inside the pages of books she buys or in a little box or even in a scrapbook tossed aside as unimportant. I don’t think the names are necessary but I will say the mother lived in Indiana. I’m glad she thought her son’s words were worthy of saving. I believe they’re worthy of being read again.

     Somewhere in France,  May 12, 1918

    Dearest Mother,

    Today is “Mother’s Day” – your day – and I wish I were home to spend the day with you.  Altho I cannot send you a big box of flowers I will endeavor to send a little flower that grows near me on a green hillside.

    I hope you are well and happy today.  Of course I realize how you feel about me being over here, the two battles you have to fight, that is, keeping up a brave front and smile when I know you feel bad about me.  Mother dear, I really am safe and the best news I get from home is that you are well and enjoying life. I would rather hear that you enjoyed a good show, say once a week, than to hear that you had denied yourself one little thing to help the Cause along. I sort of figure that you have done your bit, so please try to have a good time and remember that I don’t fare so bad.  It isn’t nearly so bad here as you all imagine.

    We eat, sleep, read magazines, letters and roam around to see everything going on. We aren’t getting any furloughs at present. I mean my outfit, but maybe it won’t be long until we can go touring again. I’ll have many stories to tell you when I get back, and I’ll trade stories for some good pies & cakes – and any eats at all that you cook. We move so much that I thought I’d have to throw away some pictures, but I’ve found a way. We always find a way. It seems a necessary part of a Marine to get along most any old place and get along well.

    I sent a list home of some things I want – and you may add on to that list a few pounds of homemade candy, preferably fudge. I don’t care how old fudge gets, it is always the best tasting eats we ever get from back there. I can buy French candy & chocolate at the Y.M.C. A. huts, so you see that we really don’t suffer for those things, but nevertheless some good old homemade candy is the stuff.

    I write you once a week, when possible, as an answer to Dad, Sis & your letters so they must not feel slighted, but this is your letter, and nearly every mother who has a son in France will get one too. Spring is coming in very beautiful, but the rain is so frequent here.  After a big rain the sun pops out with a blue sky and green hills – then everybody is happy.

    I tried to subscribe for one of the 3rd Liberty Loan Bonds but they aren’t selling them here.  I would like to have one of each issue. I have no kick coming about getting mail now as it is coming pretty regularly.  I’d appreciate some of those fried chickens you spoke about but I think I’ll wait until I come home.

    Well Mother dear, next Mother’s Day we will celebrate properly and have a good time.

    Love to Dad & Sis, and you…

    Your loving son, Buddie

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

    Not all sons and daughters become soldiers who are stationed in foreign countries on a different continent on Mother’s Day, but the yearnings for connection to home and family are universal regardless of time or place, seen or unseen.

  • Carolyn’s Card

    Carolyn’s Card


    Pretty found this card when she was clearing out one of her carefully packed away boxes yesterday. She saw that it was mine – and asked me if I wanted to save it. It was dated 12/31/15, and when I read it, of course I wanted to keep it. This card should have been kept with my collection of most treasured personal mementos I carefully pack away in my own special box in my office – not randomly mixed in with Pretty’s hundreds of tubs filled with collectibles at various stages of “to sell or not to sell.” Occasionally she surprises me with something that got crisscrossed in one of our many moves over the past twenty-three years. This card slipped through the cracks during the 2017 move from Casa de Canterbury in downtown Columbia over the river to Cardinal Drive in West Columbia.

    Sheila, where does the time go? It seems only yesterday that I was racing down the basketball court to pass the ball to you. You were always there, ready to take the pass. Wonderful memories!

    Carolyn and I played basketball at Columbia High School in West Columbia, Texas, from 1961 – 1964. We played a variant of the game called six-on-six because well, each team had six players on the floor at the same time: three guards playing defense on one half of the court and three forwards for offense on the other half. Carolyn was one of the fastest guards we had, could steal the ball from one of our opponents’ forwards and then dribble like crazy to get to the half court line ahead of players who were always a step behind her, desperately trying to get the ball back before she could pass it across the half court line to one of her forwards who would be waiting to alter the course of play with a switch from defense to offense. Thankfully, women didn’t play full court basketball with five players like the men until 1971. I played forward for our six-on-six team but definitely lacked both speed and endurance for full court. I’m exhausted just thinking about that.

    our senior pictures in the 1964 Columbia High yearbook

    Carolyn’s beautiful smile was deceptive on the basketball court – she was much tougher during competition. Since I was the shortest forward on the team, I needed to look tough, but that wasn’t easy when my mom insisted she needed to roll my hair in tight curls before games and especially before the yearbook pictures. Sigh.

    The 2024 WNBA season started this week, and we have ten former University of South Carolina Gamecock women’s basketball players who made Opening Day rosters, second only to UConn alumni with sixteen. Basketball for Pretty and me is more fun when we know the players, when we see “our girls” playing on the big stages of professional excellence.

    But when I saw this beautiful card from my former high school teammate Carolyn Buchanan (Reid Young now), I was transported to the rush of feelings I experienced waiting for her to pass the ball to me at that half court line sixty years ago. I had to be there for her, for my team, ready to take that pass. Nothing could have been more exciting! And if by some miracle, I actually scored after I caught the pass – Caitlin Clark herself couldn’t have been happier.

    Isn’t it funny, this thing called life. The directions it takes us, the experiences we share and the special people we meet along the way.

    Carolyn is one of the special people I met along the way, and her card brought back a flood of wonderful memories for me of a “forever friend” who made my five teenage years in Brazoria, Texas, some of the happiest in my life. I hope she still has that Hollywood smile.

  • 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.

    ;