Excerpts
Chapter Two
At the end of the road
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Suddenly, she tugged at my hand, demanding my full attention. I followed her perplexed eyes across the street to where an old man sat on the grass, a small miscellany of clothes, plastic, paper and cans scattered around him. He had the dirty, unkempt and haphazardly put together look of the chronically homeless.
“Eh, Mommy? Eh Mommy? How does someone end up homeless and lonely like that?”
My heart smiled, fleetingly, ironically. For, right then I could have told her that I was one tiny little paycheck away from homelessness myself. That I lived on the edge of a deep, dark fear that one slight, unexpected twist of fate and I could be right there— on a busy street corner, my children and my worldly goods at my feet-- unnoticed by old, jaded passersby. Instead, I paused and searched deeper for answers to questions that was about more than a single old man on the grassy edge of a busy suburban street.
“Eh Mommy? Eh, Mommy? How is it possible for a life to go so terribly wrong?”
The questions were filled with urgency and a stirring poignancy for a mother who had seen, felt sadness and heartbreak—a mother keenly aware of how easy it was for dreams to go awry, and life to go terribly wrong.
Chapter Seven
No more tears
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Now, I no longer believe, as I did as a child, that God is a white man with blue eyes, clothed in flowing white robes, sitting on a golden throne. Indeed, I have no concept of what he looks like. But in my moments of pique at both sexism and racism, I have happily conceptualized God as a black woman with dreadlocks just like Whoopi Goldberg…
While my concept of God has evolved, my belief in his existence and his status as Supreme Lord and Master of the Universe has never wavered. Although, I understand the evolution theory, for example, as the scientific explanation of how the earth came into being, I accept the creation story as an act of faith. It is a faith that is validated every time I hear a newborn baby cry; see the magnificence of a sunrise or a sunset; stand on the sand and contemplate the depth and vastness of the ocean; hear the songs of the birds in my backyard; or consider the perfection and harmony of the universe.
Such beauty and correctness could only have come, not by chance, but from the mind of a being far superior to any other, far more loving, far more compassionate and with a sense of humor that knows no end.
I believe deeply in God, even if it means that I live in a fool’s paradise; even if it’s just a way to numb the pain of my existence sometimes; even if such faith is merely the “opium of the oppressed”; even if its escapism; even if it’s a crutch; even if it all sounds like a magnificent lie at times; even if there are more questions than answers; even if it’s just a way to make sense of a journey that seems pointless at times. This, I know, is blind faith but on this one issue only, I am happy to be completely blind
Chapter Ten
The Chair in the White House
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…We went to Vice President’s Al Gore’s office. We were treated to colas from his refrigerator, before making our way to the south lawn to join a throng of Americans, just hanging out, waiting for the fireworks at nightfall.
Chelsea Clinton, the president’s daughter, and her friends were on the balcony. We waved to them thinking that the day could not possibly get better. It did, when President Clinton emerged from the mansion accompanied by his dog, Buddy. They looked great together, both sleek and handsome, and much better than they did on television.
They played for a while, the President throwing a yellow tennis ball and Buddy bringing it back each time. Then, he began to work the line, greeting those who had chosen to spend America’s national day at the White House.
We were a small group of five—a splash of color among mostly pale faces. He moved purposefully, watching us from the corner of his eyes as if willing us to stay put for as long as it would take him to reach us.
Then, he was there.
On that that day…, I appreciated more than ever the graciousness of America in throwing its arms out to the world and challenging all those who dare to come, to help make a great experiment work. And, I appreciated that my daughters and I got to do what most Americans never will: We held the President’s hand and we sat in his chair.
Chapter Twenty Five
In the shadow of death
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Why did Shoppers have to come to Glenmont? Why couldn’t they have turned the big, empty building into a recreation center or a plant nursery? I looked away from the store toward Randolph Road, and saw yellow police tape, officers in the parking and emergency vehicles. A body, wrapped in white, securely fastened with dark colored straps was on the ground. A small group of curious onlookers watched from outside the tape…
Why is there no early warning system to give us a heads up when life is going to end--just so we could tell our families that we love them one last time; just so we could tell them that we would not be home for dinner; just so we could savor a last sundae, or cognac perhaps; just so we could linger for one moment beneath the splendor of a golden moon; just so we could stroll along our favorite stretch of beach to watch the waves crash to the shore; just so we could see the tinges of a sunrise or a sunset on water one last time?