Category: Truth

Posted in Contemplations, Gratitude, Truth

Don’t Rain on my Parade! by Ginger Keller Gannaway

Posted on by gingerkellergannaway

Since the publication of Barbra Streisand’s autobiography My Name Is Barbra, the internet is blessed with endless Barbra content. For me “Happy Days Are Here Again” because I cannot get enough of Barbra Streisand!  

Part of my Barbra Collection

When I saw Funny Girl in 1968, she grabbed my heart and mind with her talent and gave me more inspiration and joy than my thirteen-year-old soul could imagine. I saw her debut film twenty-four times over three weeks. (I got to see movies for free because Grandma owned the theaters in Eunice, Louisiana).

Back then my two younger sisters and I adored musicals, reenacting our favorite scenes in the big living room as Momma’s hi-fi in the den sent the songs into a round ceiling speaker. We’d take turns being Fanny Brice as we danced around chairs and twirled on the carpet to “I’m the Greatest Star” or used our fire place’s white brick hearth to represent the tugboat in “Don’t Rain on My Parade.” The “Sadie, Sadie” song challenged nine-year-old Kelly when she had the Omar Sharif part and tried to carry “Barbra” over an imaginary threshold. But we all excelled at mimicking Barbra’s facial expressions and her expressive arm movements. We’d copy the movie’s blocking and enter the Funny Girl world. 

As a teen, I wrote fan letters on lined school paper filling pages about her singing and acting skills. I explained how her talent inspired me to be braver and not let my mild cerebral palsy stop me from trying to swim, play tennis, or audition for the chorus in The Eunice Players Theater’s version of Oklahoma. Yet I didn’t aspire to be a singer since my own mother had once told me “You couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.” I didn’t dream of being in movies either.  I wanted to be Barbra’s friend and have her over for gumbo. 

After I received form letters from her fan mail coordinator, Larry Marcus, I started addressing my letters to him. I’d write nonsense like “How can someone I adore and think so much about not even know I exist?” Every song she sang told a story that she acted out with her unique phrasing, whispering, begging, accusing, demanding, and using vocal calisthenics that took us on journeys that had us smiling, laughing, and crying (sometimes all in one song). Thank God I was a fanatical fan before the Internet because I would have become a teenaged recluse who lived online and listened to Barbra’s albums instead of hanging out with friends of my own.

Through Funny Girl, Hello Dolly, and On a Clear Day You Can See Forever Gayle, Kelly, and I shared our Streisand obsession. Without a record store in town, we’d take turns ordering her albums from KEUN, our local radio station. We co-owned The Barbra Streisand Album, The Second Album, The Third Album, and the Funny Girl movie soundtrack. However in 1970 when the Stoney End album was released, my younger sisters cared more about James Taylor and Carol King. As their music tastes matured, they gave me all their Barbra albums. I bragged, “I’ll never stop loving Barbra Streisand!” and Kelly flipped back her long, straight brown hair while Gayle shrugged her shoulders and followed her little sister into their shared bedroom. 

So I’d retreat into my own room where Barbra’s movie posters and lobby cards covered my walls and ceiling. And I’d put the Color Me Barbra album on my portable record player and plug in my headphones and let my idol belt out emotions my teenaged soul understood. I especially connected to “Where Am I Going?”:
“Where am I going? Why do I care?
No matter where I run, I meet myself there.
Looking inside me, what do I see?
Anger and hope and doubt.
What am I all about?
And where am I going?”
I told myself to be stronger and braver about my cerebral palsy. I still hid my crooked left arm in long sleeves and cursed my limping left leg. But Barbra at age 19 got a record deal with Columbia and landed a starring roll in a major Broadway show without changing her name, her nose, or her personality. Her belief in her talents and her fearlessness propelled her to success. She was my role model.

In college I took a library course that taught us how to do research. Our teacher had us create an annotated bibliography on a topic we liked: “Choose a topic you love so much you don’t get bored researching.” So I pulled heavy boxes of old periodicals from bookshelves and scanned microfiche to learn more about Barbra Streisand. I never approached another college course with such enthusiasm! That project increased my adoration as I learned about Barbra’s going to NYC alone at 17 to take acting classes and to attend auditions during the day while singing at small nightclubs in the evenings. I also connected with her passion for food and her tenacity. 

These days as I delve into the 966 pages of My Name Is Barbra for the second time (I first read the autobiography; now I’m listening to my idol read the book), I re-listen to each album or rewatch a t.v. special or movie of hers to discover the creative details I missed before. Her strumming, humming “Evergreen” to Kris Kristofferson in A Star Is Born (a scene edited out of the original version) is one of the movie’s very best moments. In Yentl, I hadn’t followed the cinematic motif of Yentl crossing water, and I marveled at the glorious use of natural and staged lightning during the song “There Are Moments.” Her attention to detail as a director and her collaboration with cast and crew seemed magical. I’m “geeking out” as people used to say.

Please don’t judge my Streisand obsession. Don’t Rain on my Parade! 

When a person enjoys something that gives her true joy and hope, why not allow her that inspiration? Many years ago a close friend started hating on Barbra. “Her voice is too nasal.” He knew I loved, loved Barbra Streisand. Why diss something your friend loves?

We like what we like. When one’s fanaticism hurts no one, let that parade march down the street with pride. That goes for food preferences and sports fandom as well as entertainers. Someone’s favorite team is someone else’s “What an embarrassment!” Just like one person craves seafood gumbo and another says shrimp makes them gag. Viva la difference! Let each of us adore the people, places, and things we want to. Barbra will always be “the greatest star” to me, and I hope those who disagree can keep their negativity to themselves. Let me experience a joy that shines on my soul and turns any day into a Mardi Gras parade. I smile all over every time Barbra sings, acts, writes, directs, or creates her next masterpiece. Merci beaucoup, Barbra Streisand!

Posted in Relationships, Truth

I Walk Tall; I Got a Tall Attitude

Posted on by Nancy Malcolm

   Four years ago, we took a summer vacation to The Great Smoky Mountains.  To date, it still remains one of my favorite destinations, topping the charts in scenic views, lush mountainsides, and rivers.  We saw so many black bears that it seemed they were making an appearance just for us.  And then there was Dolly.  Dolly’s childhood home, Dolly’s theme park, Dolly’s statues, and Dolly’s Stampede.  As much as we intended to stay strictly in the wilds of nature, we were drawn to Dolly Parton like a pat of butter to a piping hot square of cornbread.

            Gatlinburg, Tennessee is one of the entrances to The Smoky Mountains, and you can’t drive through Gatlinburg without seeing, hearing, and feeling Dolly Parton.  Dollywood, Dolly Parton’s Appalachian-themed park is located in Pigeon Forge which is a hop, skip and a jump from Gatlinburg.  Dolly and Dolly-type things to do are everywhere, and well…when in Rome.

Boo

            I could go on and on about Dolly’s Stampede, where we ate a four-course feast followed by a show featuring music, comedy, animals, and pyrotechnics.  I could tell you about the horseback riders who did tricks, and how patriotic the show was, but what we mostly came away with is the absolute magnetism of Dolly as a country singer, songwriter, actress, and philanthropist.  She gives money for scholarships and donates books to inner-city schools so that all children can have a book of their own to read.  Her talent, charm, and grace are undeniable.  And by the way, she is a Capricorn.  Her birthday was January 19th, the last day to be a Capricorn.

            Capricorns are known to be hard workers.  They are often overachievers, persistent, practical, and sensitive.  They make success look effortless even though they do put a lot of energy and time into their careers and relationships.  And while Dolly Parton is an extravagant example of zodiac energy and creative entrepreneurship, she has a soul twin who shares so many common denominators and the same birthday,  my little Auntie Sue.

            Dolly and Sue, both short in stature and big on attitude, have an unstoppable will to survive and thrive.  Both are givers and have never known a stranger.  Both can kick ass and take names later and both love to love others.   Although Dolly is obviously living life to the fullest, Auntie Sue has gone on to Glory, both are excelling and exhilarating in their respective spaces.

            Dolly and Sue were faithful to their belief in God.  In fact, there is a Bible verse that reminds me of them both.  Proverbs 27:17,  “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.”  Anyone who ever spent time with Auntie Sue knew she was special.  Her confidence, endearing humor, magnetism, and compassion for mankind was a force that attracted others, drew them in, and encouraged them to be better people.  What a legacy, what a quality to have.  Both of these tiny dynamos obviously lived by Dolly’s quote:  I walk tall: I got a tall attitude.

            I was always one of the tallest girls in my class all through elementary school, perpetually on the back row, center on picture day.  I was taller than every boy in my class until seventh grade.  I was always scouring the pant rack for tall, not regulars, and tried endlessly to find stylish flat shoes with not too much heel. 

            I never wanted to be tall.

            You should be glad you’re tall.

            The growth of my arms and legs was the source of many tears and angst.

            I wish I was tall like you.

It didn’t matter what anyone said, my inner self could not manage a tall attitude.

            Growing up, I would occasionally forget that I was a full head taller than everyone else until I saw myself in photographs or looked down to see my pants fit as though they were ready for a flood.  I was tall, but I never walked tall.  As I gradually grew into my own in high school, I was glad the boys were taller but painfully aware that when standing with a group of girls, I could see the top of everyone’s head.

            In college sorority pictures, I tried to casually slump, scrunching my shoulders to be more ‘right-sized.’  Unsure of myself, holding back and trying to fit my tall peg into a short hole left me never feeling good enough.  It’s the kind of thing self-help books are made of.  Shrinking back, making myself small, so others could be tall.

            Enter Auntie Sue.  Tiny like Dolly.  Big hair, like Dolly, and outspoken, like Dolly,  Auntie Sue believed in me with a force as strong as the Oklahoma wind.  Growing up without my mother, I never had that approval and acceptance that many might take for granted.  I simply bluffed my way to adulthood where Auntie Sue finally reentered my life with a new perspective;  Walk tall and have a tall attitude.

            I have written volumes about Auntie Sue.  Stories about her humor, her sacred sittin’ ugly time, her glory hole, and her fierce loyalty to those she loved.  I will never tire of singing her praises.  I’ll never forget her hysterical Sue-isms, and I’ll forever be grateful for her love.  Her walk-tall attitude encompassed me and lifted my slouchy frame from a wanna-be 5’6” to a real 5’8 ½”.  Unconditional love has the power to make even the shakiest walk tall.

            Maybe some might think it a  s t r e t c h  to compare Auntie Sue with the big as life, Dolly Parton, but I think it’s just right.  As iron sharpens iron, a tall attitude encourages the same.

    Dolly’s living the dream and embracing her tall attitude.  She’s singing her songs, selling her cornbread, and bringing the world together with her podcast, Dolly Parton’s America.  And Auntie Sue?  My little Auntie Sue is still sending her love and guidance to me, and she’s still walking tall….walking tall on the streets of gold.

Posted in Reality, Truth

It’s Not Always the Way It Looks

Posted on by Nancy Malcolm

            She sat slumped over on the red-flowered couch in my office.  Her hair, a dingy blonde with dark roots, was greasy and her face was stained with old make-up and fresh tears. 

            The police officer stood between us, his rough hands resting on his thick belt which held handcuffs, a radio, and the ever-present tazer.

            “I found her behind the school, near the apartments.  She had an illegal knife on her,” he said and laid it on my desk.  “We can press charges.”

            “I wasn’t doing anything wrong.  I missed the bus,” she said.

            As an Assistant Principal in a large high school, I could tell by looking that the knife was over the five- and one-half inch legal limit.  The knife was an older-looking switchblade with dirt and a little rust on the handle.  It had obviously been used before and needed a good sharpening.

            “What’s your name?” I asked and turned my chair to face her.

            “Pepper.”

            “Pepper, is that your real name?”

            “No. My friends call me Pepper; everyone else calls me Charlene Davis,” she said and sucked in a jagged breath before tears started to fall.  “Please.  Please.  I had it in my purse.  I wasn’t going to hurt anyone unless they tried to hurt me.”

            “Thanks, Officer,” I said.  “Let Charlene and I talk for a few minutes.”

            “I’ll be right outside your door if you need me,”  he said.

            I brought up her student information on my computer and turned toward her,  “So, Charlene, tell me your story.  I see you don’t live at home.”

            Charlene took another deep breath and straightened her tank top, which didn’t quite cover her voluptuous body.  I asked her if she had a coat since it was cold outside.  She shook her head no. Handing her the sweater draped behind my chair I said, “Start from the beginning.”

            Forty minutes later I knew a lot about Charlene and a little about the knife.  I have spent thirty-six years of my life in education, and I’ve heard stories from students that made me cry.  Stories that haunted me and shook me to my core.  But Charlene’s story broke my heart.

 Charlene did not know her daddy, but her mother had known a lot of men who wanted to be called that.  It seems her mom had run off three years ago and left her and her three siblings alone.  CPS stepped in and separated the four sending the younger ones to one foster home, the brother to another, and Charlene to another.  Charlene had run away from four foster homes since then and was now living in a state-owned, group home for teenage girls in Austin, several hours away from her brother and sisters.  Not ideal by any means.

 “It’s ok,” she said.  “I’m leaving as soon as I graduate, and I’ll get my brother and sisters back.  I’ll take care of them myself.”

“No more running away though, or the next stop will be juvie.”

“I know. This is my last chance,” she said.

            “Graduation will be your ticket for a better life, Charlene.  I’m proud of you for staying on track with your grades in spite of everything that has happened,” I said.

            “I’ll be the first one in my family to graduate, Miss.  I’m really smart, and I have a job at Mcdonald’s on the weekends.  That’s where I met my boyfriend.”

            “Do you mind if I call you Pepper?”  I asked.  And she smiled for the first time.

            “Tell me about this boyfriend, Pepper.”

            “His name is Ryder and I love him.  He lives in those apartments by the McDonalds,  and after work, I go over to see him.  He gave me the knife.”

            “No flowers or candy?  But he gave you a knife?  And what do you do when you go over to see him so late at night?”

            “We do stuff.  You know, we love each other.”

            Before I could stop myself, I said, “Charlene, you know what causes babies, don’t you?  I hope you’re using some form of protection.”

            “Yea, mostly.  We try, Miss.  Anyway, usually, the bus is not running when I see him after work, so I have to walk home. He gave me the knife so I would be safe walking home from his apartment.  He’s sweet that way.  That’s why I need the knife back.  He gave it to me.”

            “Pepper, let me get this straight.  You work the night shift at McDonalds, then you walk over to his apartment.  You stay there for a few hours and then you walk yourself back to the home?  Why doesn’t he take you home or walk with you?”

            “He doesn’t have a car, Miss.  That’s why he gave me the knife, so I can be safe walking home.  He’ll be mad if I don’t have it.”

            “Oh Pepper, you are worthy of being safe and being walked home by your boyfriend.  This knife may cause you more trouble than you’re ready for.  Like today.  You know I have to take the knife.”

            “I know, Miss.  But I need it and I promise to hide it better when I come to school. It’s only four more months till graduation.  Please?  It’s scary walking home late at night.”

            We talked a few more minutes and then I sent her to class, while I kept the knife.

            Charlene flew way under the radar for the remainder of the semester.  I would see her walking through the halls occasionally, and she would give me a half-smile or a shy wave, not wanting anyone to know we knew each other.  But I wanted to hug her.  Feed her a healthy meal.  Keep her safe.  Ask about that damn boyfriend.

            Instead, one week before graduation, I called her into my office.  I knew she only had one more final exam to take, and I would never see her again.

            “Hi Miss,” she said as she knocked softly on my door.

            “Pepper, you look gorgeous today!” I said as I noticed her fresh hair and new outfit.  She was wearing a short, blue, flouncy skirt made out of layers of thin material.  Her top was buttoned up the front and covered the waistband of the skirt, with room to spare. Then I saw what I thought was a slight bump beneath her blouse.

            “The house mother gave me some money to buy a few new things before I graduate and have to move.  I’m having a baby, Miss.  See?”  And she cupped her small round belly to show me.

“Ryder wants a boy.”

“Wow,”  I said.

 “I have something for you.”  And I handed her a pink gift bag with ribbons and a small ‘Congratulations’ balloon.  She smiled the biggest smile I’d ever seen and asked, “Can I open it?”

            “You sure can!!”  I said.

            She sat on my red-flowered couch and put the bag on her knees.  She took the fluffed tissue paper out of the bag one by one and pressed them flat.

“I’m going to save this paper.  It’s just like new.”  She said.

I had individually wrapped each gift: a set of lip glosses, JLO body wash and spray, a new hairbrush, and a precious stuffed teddy bear with I Love You embroidered on the stomach. And at the very bottom of the bag was one last gift.  “Don’t open that one until you get home, ok?  I think you’ll remember it.”  I said.

“Thank you, Miss.  This is my only graduation gift.  I love all of it and the baby will love the teddy bear!”  She hugged me and I hugged her right back, neither one of us wanting to let go.

“I’m so proud of you, Charlene Davis.  I knew you could do it.”  I said, as she blushed and smiled a soft, beautiful smile.  Wide-eyed, and a little teary she responded quietly, “That means a lot, Miss.”

We had a quick hug the night of graduation and I have not heard anything from her since. 

As with Charlene and the knife, it’s not always the way it looks.  Everyone has a story to tell if we will only take time to listen.  It is an honor to hear someone’s truth and hold space for their thoughts and feelings, whether we agree or not.  Our stories matter, we matter.  And for Charlene, I wanted her to know she matters in this world. 

Charlene ‘Pepper’ Davis matters.