I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

storytelling for truth lovers

  • a man of letters – season 2 – episode 1

    a man of letters – season 2 – episode 1


    My father’s letters continued after his marriage to my mother, and later he wrote to me when I was in college in the 1960s. I look forward to another series on those entertaining letters, but for now I will leave my family as they were at the end of World War II. (July 01, 2018 – season 1 – episode 11)

    In June, 2018 I published a series of letters in this blog that my father wrote to my mother who was the hometown girl he left behind as well as letters to other family members during WWII. I did plan to do another series that summer five years ago on letters he wrote to me when I was in college at the University of Texas in Austin from 1964 – 1967 but found I suffered from burnout, emotional exhaustion, or the devil made me give up. My dad was my best friend from the time I was born in 1946 until his death from colon cancer in 1976 at fifty-one years of age. He had beautiful handwriting I didn’t inherit and a beautiful mind, too. Here’s a sample of both.

    My daddy always loved poetry and music so when he gave me these words at Christmas my senior year in high school, I wasn’t surprised. I don’t remember if he mentioned they were part of the lyrics from a song called A Letter from Santa written by Mickey Maguire (more remembered for Christmas classic I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus). I do remember I laughed out loud. I probably also couldn’t believe my dad had actually written the word “ass” in something he gave me – my parents refused to use what they considered to be vulgar language; I’m sure “ass” was a hard no. Maybe this rite of passage made it funnier to me. Regardless, I’ll start the new series on a seasonal note.

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    Slava Ukraini. For the children everywhere.

  • the truth tellers

    the truth tellers


    At a press conference following her loss in the finals at Wimbledon in 2019, Serena Williams was questioned about why she lost. Although she tried to say her opponent played a brilliant match, the members of the press wouldn’t let it go. They asked her if she thought her lack of match play during the year had hurt her, whether her role as a mother took too much time away from her tennis, and finally someone said they wondered if she spent too much time supporting equal rights or other political issues. Serena’s quick response to that question was “The day I stop supporting equality is the day I die.”

    I can identify with her answer because I believe my actions to support equality and social justice are two of the dominant forces of my life, but alas, I lack the tennis skills that give Serena Williams a universally recognized platform. Writing has been my platform for supporting equal rights during the past seventeen years; it has been the curtain call for the third act of my life – my love affair with words: collecting, rearranging, caressing them to make sense of an ever-changing world. Flannery O’Connor said I write because I don’t know what I think until I read what I write. I get that because I can start with a feeling, but sometimes my thoughts trail along behind my words that come from a mysterious place yet to be revealed.

    This poster given to me by my friend Linda many years ago hangs in my office today with words from author Anne Lamott to writers about why they write. “It is as if the right words, the true words, are already inside of them, and they just want to help them get out.” The true words I release, however, are not necessarily everyone’s truth. I have learned over the years that truth is not an absolute for every person but rather a fluid concept capable of manipulating minds at odds with what I believe truth to be. For example, remember Kelly Anne Conway’s remarkable explanation of “alternative facts.” Those two words took America on a roller coast ride of a reality show called Believe It or Not DC Style for the past eight years, and unbelievably created a deep wedge that pit family members, friends, co-workers, even institutions against each other with no sign of relief in next year’s political environment.

    Truth telling may be a lost art, truth tellers may bend with the winds, but fundamental values of equality and social justice must not be either lost or warped. As Serena said, the day I stop supporting equality is the day I die.

    And I ain’t ready to go yet. Onward.

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    For the children.

  • Eleanor Rosalynn Smith Carter (1927 – 2023)

    Eleanor Rosalynn Smith Carter (1927 – 2023)


    Rosalynn Carter was an American activist and writer who served as First Lady of the United States from 1977 – 1981 during the presidency of her husband Jimmy Carter, the 39th. President of the United States. She was born August 18, 1927 in Plains, Georgia and died November 19, 2023 in Plains, Georgia.

    Christmas card from the Carters in 2019

    Rosalynn’s name always first on their Christmas card signatures

    Emily Burack compiled tributes from five First Ladies of the United States for Town and Country Magazine in an article published November 20, 2023. The following quotes are excerpts from two of them.

    “First Lady Rosalynn Carter walked her own path, inspiring a nation and the world along the way. Throughout her incredible life as First Lady of Georgia and the First Lady of the United States, Rosalynn did so much to address many of society’s greatest needs. She was a champion for equal rights and opportunities for women and girls; an advocate for mental health and wellness for every person; and a supporter of the often unseen and uncompensated caregivers of our children, aging loved ones, and people with disabilities…Above all, the deep love shared between Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter is the definition of partnership, and their humble leadership is the definition of patriotism. She lived her life by her faith…” (joint statement by Dr. Jill Biden and President Joe Biden)

    “Today, Barack and I join the world in celebrating the remarkable legacy of a First Lady, philanthropist, and advocate who dedicated her life to lifting up others. Her life is a reminder that no matter who we are, our legacies are best measured not in awards or accolades, but in the lives we touch. We send our thoughts and prayers to Jimmy and the entire Carter family during this difficult time.” (Michelle Obama)

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    Turning to face my fear, I meet the warrior who lives within, wrote Jennifer Welwood. Our nation has lost a warrior woman whose courage and commitment to service will inspire future generations of Americans. Teresa and I are proud to be a part of her legacy. We will miss the calm wisdom, the awesome strength of Rosalynn Carter. May she rest in the peace she labored to give the world.

  • the man in the moon

    the man in the moon


    One of my paternal grandmother’s favorite euphemisms when she became exasperated by the ignorance of someone who had trampled on her last nerve was “he didn’t have any more sense than the man in the moon.” Ma’s euphemisms were more like proclamations that I took to be absolute truth, which meant I had little regard for the man in the moon of my childhood. Yesterday I saw him through different eyes.

    Nana and I took care of our two young granddaughters, four year old Ella and twenty-two month old Molly, while their parents enjoyed a day of food, friends and college football. Activities had been fast and furious for the girls – Nana and I had struggled to keep pace, but late in the afternoon they settled outside playing together in the sandbox where unfortunately an argument over a pink shovel caused a meltdown by Molly which sent Ella scrambling to a small hammock swing nearby. The next thing I knew Molly had climbed in the hammock with Ella (Nana gave her a leg up), and both of them were laughing while Nana pushed them, twirling them around like a ride at the state fair.

    As twilight came too soon for the girls who cried Nana, go higher, go higher I had a Thanksgiving moment for these three: my wife who shared the past twenty-two years with me and the two little girls whose lives added another dimension for our family.

    Finally, Nana stopped swinging the small hammock, and Ella jumped out of the swing. Hey, everybody, I see the moon, she exclaimed with delight. Naynay, come see the moon, she insisted. I left my chair on the deck to do as she told me because that’s how I roll with this four year old. Nana picked up Molly to stand next to Ella who pointed to the moon for her younger sister. Molly said moon, moon while her face beamed brighter than the moonlight.

    I told the girls a story about a man in the moon, but the man I saw with them through their eyes was a kind man – very smart – who simply stayed in the sky to watch over us. Why? Ella asked. Good question, I replied.

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    “The oak trees were alive with color in the midst of the evergreens. Bright red and yellow leaves catching the sunlight as Daddy and I walked through the brush early that Thanksgiving morning. The smell of the pines was fresh and all around us. We didn’t speak, but this was when I felt most connected to my father. Nature was a bond that united us and the gift that he gave me. And not just in those East Texas woods. He envisioned the whole earth as my territory and set me on my path to discovery. In 1958, this was remarkable for a girl’s father…Perhaps, though, it is the love and closeness of those family ties that leave the sights and sounds that last a lifetime.” (from Deep in the Heart: A Memoir of Love and Longing)

    Thanksgiving blessings to you and your family from ours in South Carolina