Yesterday we went to see Broadway Across America's The Color Purple. I wept from the first act. The story was awesome. I've read the book at least twice in my late teens and early 20's and I've seen the movie. I knew the story well and was deeply touched by it 20+ years ago.
I wept because of my personal experiences. I was transported back to my youth. To my youth. When I was 15 we moved to a new neighborhood. A neighborhood where we were one of very few white families. Very few. A neighborhood where during the first few months of living there the neighborhood kids would throw rocks at our car and call us “Fuckin' White Bitch!” Yelling and chanting and rock throwing....”Fuckin' White Bitch”....”Fuckin' White Bitch” as my mom and I drove down the street with my two little brothers aged 5 &8 in the back seat. Not once did my mother call them Fuckin' Niggers! NOT ONCE! She didn't teach us to be racist. She did not teach us to be racist. We lived there and took pride in our home. Eventually we were no longer taunted and became friendly with the neighbors. But one very important thing about this grand house on Clifford Ave near Portland Ave was that it was 2 houses away from a Church. The New Covenant Church of God, a Pentecostal Church. A foot stomping, hand clapping, gospel singing with the windows open kind of church. The music would bellow through the neighborhood on Sunday mornings. The sweet sweet music.
In my Early 20's, when I was 22 to be exact, I ventured with a friend on a cross country road trip. A trip to find the best place to live in the US. A trip where we took no major highways only local roads. A trip in a 1983 converted Dodge Camper Van. We somehow ended up in Miami Florida 30 days after Hurricane Andrew. We drove through the streets on Miami amazed at the destruction. There were no street signs any where, no houses that weren't destroyed, no traffic lights, no stores. Nothing but chaos and Tent Cities. We heard of a group of rogue red tape rippers through the United Way and figured we could help out for a few days before continuing our trip. We ended up staying for 18 months. We eventually helped get People Helping People off the ground and ran a soup kitchen, a homeless shelter, and helped people rebuild their homes and their lives. We ended up in the poorest neighborhood of Miami. The police wouldn't even patrol Goulds in their cars. They patrolled in their helicopters, low to the ground, spotlight bright.
Once again, I found myself to be one of few white people in the neighborhood and I was living in a van this time. We found a lovely Pastor and his wife who were willing to let us use their property to house our tent city soup kitchen and homeless shelter. Showering with a cold water hose in the Miami heat with no electricity save when a cop or some city employee would siphon gas from their tanks for us to use in our generators. We served 300 people a day. We also helped Elder and Mother Moss rebuild their Church.
Anyway, to get back to the point of my writing, I spent 18 months on the property of The Glorious Church of Christ in Heaven, in Goulds Florida. This was a foot stomping, hand clapping gospel singing kind of church. There were no windows to open...there were no windows. Every Sunday and Tuesday night the music would bellow through the neighborhood. Bellow. Oh, the sweet sweet music. I listened as I cooked meals or tutored the homeless school children, or talked with the crack addict, or planned the next days out reach. I went to very few of Elder Moss' services, but I listened as he preached under the tent, and watched as the ladies in their Sunday hats fanned themselves and sang. Oh, the music, the sweet sweet music.
Back to The Color Purple, the first Act takes place in a Church in the South. A foot stomping, hand clapping, gospel singing kind of church....I wept and I wept yesterday as I remembered the love of Elder and Mother Moss and their sweet sweet music!
I have many stories to tell about my days doing Hurricane Relief. I will tell these stories. I need to tell these stories. I will tell them as I my soul allows.
The day started with an early morning breakfast and candles with Daddy before he left for work.
And ended with dinner at an Italian restaurant where we all ate way too much...
