Back to my night. Remember how I told you that my friends in school were super great and super different than me? One of the girls, Chezon, is (among other things) a spoken word poet. She had a show (?) slam (?) performance tonight and invited me to go. I didn't take the facebook invitation seriously, but when we were leaving class on Thursday she hollered "I'll see you Saturday night!" and although hesitant at the commitment (when did that become one of my biggest fears?) I didn't want to let her down.
Let the record show that I know the words I share here won't do what I saw and heard tonight true justice.
The event was in a tiny museum in the heart of downtown Atlanta. It is actually dedicated to slavery and the history of the black community in Atlanta. I knew just by the address that we'd be going to the part of town my parents always warned me about growing up. The "rough" part of town, if you will. The older I get the more I realize just how sheltered I was growing up (and honestly, still am). I can see the good intentions there, but can also see the potential harm. I hope I'll continue to expand out of that mold now so if I have children I can introduce them to other cultures and history that surround them. Sara and I snuck in as my friend Che was half way through her set. It was beautiful. Funny. Inspiring. Rich. We found seats and were wow'd for the next 2 hours as 3 other poets got up and recited their work. I've never been to anything like that before. I guess I figured that scene would be too deep for me--above my head. (I mean, didn't I just publish a post about smoothies and chick flicks?) I've only written one poem in my life--an 11th grade English assignment--and have never been compelled to express myself that way since.
Some poems were about dreams, others about family and race, cultural events were discussed with passion and emotion. In true Southern form, there were quite a few references to fried chicken. There was a moving poem about trying to trace a family's name past the slave ships and another about homeless people being dismissed from Atlanta in 1996 in order to "clean up" the city. One guy talked about honoring our loved ones while they are alive with us, so he shared a poem about all the things his father has given him in life that he never asked for. It was especially moving because his dad was sitting one row up from us. There was a poem about the word AIN'T and another about how black women snap their necks. There was a really moving one dedicated to the crew of the Columbia space shuttle disaster of 2003. Each work, even the humorous, were so thought provoking and entertaining. It was the healthy dose of culture I've been needing. I even heard a few people snap during the performances.
We socialized afterward and I even ran into a lady who worked at my tiny Christian high school in the burbs (Mrs. Hensel, Philip's mom). She was absolutely the last person I would've expected to see in downtown Atlanta on a Saturday night, but honestly so refreshing to catch up. I gave myself the tour of the little museum and read about a slave who had himself shipped in a cargo box from South Carolina to Pittsburgh during the height of the slavery years. I was blown away by the reality that so many people had to face back then. I know we all joke about the South and usually in some reference to Vera Bradley or Stone Mountain. I admit that I like country music and find a true southern accent to be enchanting. But the more I learn about who I really am deep down, the more I realize I have some strong feelings about the black culture and community. I have opinions about the slavery period and Affirmative Action. To be completely honest, I'm startled to find such passion rise up in me. It's like a breath of fresh air and I'm intrigued to continue down this road.
I guess all that to say is that I walked away a different person than when I walked in. I can't put my finger on the last time that happened. I walked in with the insecurity of my skin color and walked out having truly connected with other humans--identifying emotion at the heart level--finding common bond outside of work and social status. I know I'm rambling and probably coming across way more dramatic than intended. Like I said at the beginning, I just wanted to get this out before I put it on a mental to-do list that never got completed.
Now I have to watch some ASL videos and figure out what in the heck they are trying to say. I really do appreciate you girls letting me run free at the mouth here. I know I'm wordy and I keep promising to quit. I just couldn't let tonight go without some processing.
Love you more than the Big Chicken!
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