A Burden Shared Is Half The Trouble. A Joy Shared, Is A Joy Made Double

Dear Boo and Bubble,

As you know, your Aunt Bee just became engaged to be married to Uncle Drew. All the talk of wedding plans and accompanying festivities has me a little reflective, if not nostalgic. Captain and I have been together for a little over 40 years now. That is certainly enough time to consolidate some impressions of what the relationship of marriage means and requires.

Marriage is very much like a prized orchid.  It must be adequately enriched, properly watered and given a nurturing environment - never to wither from neglect. Marriage is like an intimate tango, it must be rehearsed constantly until the dancers can sense each others' movements with only the slightest of touch. Marriage is like a high wire act.  It must strike a delicate balance between pushing and pulling, giving and receiving, praising and critiquing, encouraging and discouraging, spontaneity and habit - never tipping too much one way or the other.

Marriage must be both unguarded and enduring, based upon the full acceptance of all frailties, vulnerabilities and strengths. If it is, forgiveness and understanding flow, not stubbornly, but with an ease that only love allows.

For me, beyond all else, marriage is a committed partnership, free from dominance, where joys, sorrows, pleasures, burdens, responsibilities and exemptions are shared. 

If you're very, very lucky, all of these elements come together over life's time and experiences to create such a taproot to the relationship that nothing can destroy it.

I found this poem in one of your great, great, great, great grandfather's scrapbooks that seems to say it better than I possibly could.

Katie Lee and Willie Grey - by Josie R. Hunt

Two brown heads with tossing curls,

Red lips shutting over pearls,

Bare feet, white and wet with dew,

Two eyes black and two eyes blue.

Little girl and boy were they.

Katie Lee and Willie Grey.

They were standing where a brook

Bending like a shepherd's crook,

Flashed its silver, and thick ranks

Of willow fringed its mossy banks -

Half in thought and half in play,

Katie Lee and Willie Grey.

They had cheeks like cherries red,

He was taller - 'most a head;

She with arms like wreaths of snow,

Swung a basket to and fro.

As she loitered, half in play,

Chattering with Willie Grey.

"Pretty Katie," Willie said.

And there came a dash of red

Through the browness of his cheek -

"Boys are strong and girls are weak.

And I'll carry, so I will,

Katie's basket up the hill."

Katie answered with a laugh,

"You shall carry only half."

And then, tossing back her curls,

"Boys are weak as well as girls."

Do you think that Katie guessed

Half the wisdom she expressed.

Men are only boys grown tall;

Hearts don't change much after all.

And when, long years from that day,

Katie Lee and Willie Grey

Stood again beside the brook,

Bending like a shepherd's crook.

It is strange that Willie said,

While again a dash of red

Crossed the browness of his cheek,

"I am strong and you are weak;

Life is but a slippery steep

Hung with shadows cold and deep."

"Will you trust me, Katie dear -

Walk beside me without fear!

May I carry, if I will,

All your burdens up the hill!"

And, she answered with a laugh,

"No, but you may carry half."

No Time for Hating

Dear Boo and Bubble,

Today is a dreary, rainy one where I am - perfect conditions to spend a little time with you. For inspiration, I decided to delve back into the collection of writings found in the scrapbooks kept by your great, great, great, great grandfather, Joseph Benson Cottrell. It is such a treasure trove of contemplation, touching upon the conditions of life that are unlimited to era or culture. The words on every page, whether his or those of others that he admired, offer guiding principles as pertinent to today's circumstance as to that of the day they were written.

It is very much like playing Wheel of Fortune - I spin the wheel and explore whatever text where the needle lands. This time, my random selection led me to his scrapbook described as "1880-82-86." My eyes fell on the following poem. I have researched to find its author, to no avail. Perhaps Cottrell wrote it himself, but I don't think so. Authorship is not important here, it's the message.

In ours, as in any other time, the battles of contention and separation sadly rage, bringing divisions among us that seem impossible to mend. However, people of good conscience must always try.

No Time for Hating

Begone with feud! Away with strife;

Our human hearts unmating!

Let us be friends again - this life

Is all too short for hating.

So dull the day, so dim the way,

So rough the road we're faring -

Far better weal with faithful friend

Than stalk alone uncaring.

The barren fig, the withered vine,

Are types of barren living;

But souls that give, like thine and mine,

Renew their life by giving.

While cypress waves o'er early graves,

On all the way we're going.

Far better plant where seed is scant

Than tread on fruit that's growing.

Away with scorn! Since die we must,

And rest on one lone pillow;

There are no rivals in the dust -

No food beneath the willow.

So dry the bowers, so few the flowers,

Our earthly way discloses.

Far better stoop where daisies droop

Than tramp o'er broken roses.

Of what are all the joys we hold

Compared to joys above us?

And what are rank, and power and gold,

Compared to hearts that love us?

So fleet our years, so full of tears,

So closely death is waiting;

God gives us space for loving grace,

But leaves not time for hating.

Best To Keep Your Mouth Shut

Dear Boo and Bubble,

Human nature is a funny thing, especially when it comes to credit and blame. None of us ever wants to accept the blame for foibles gone wrong, but we eternally crave the credit for each and every little accomplishment in our lives. It's much more satisfying to bask in the glow of a compliment than it is to humbly internalize one's own sainthood. However, when others fail to notice our many abilities and contributions, the temptation is always to go ahead and espouse them. Sometimes, thought, it's just better to keep your mouth shut.

I am reminded of a story that Great Granddaddy Schaefer told on himself.

Years ago, one of his closest friends was a man named Dr. L.D. Johnson. Granddaddy got to know L.D. when he came to Greenville as the paster of First Baptist Church. Their relationship blossomed over the years and continued when L.D. joined the faculty of Furman University in the Religion Department. He was a man of outstanding intellect, compassion and wit - all qualities that Granddaddy admired and enjoyed.

Dr. Johnson also wrote editorials for The Greenville News every Sunday. Reading the paper on Sunday mornings became a ritual for Granddaddy. First, he would routinely strip it of all the supplements and inserts, discarding them to the trash. He then organized the rest into an order for reading - first, the front page and headlines - sports next - and finally, the editorial page. It was always with "great anticipation and never a disappointment" that he read L.D.'s column.

On a particular Sunday, L.D. used a fable to make his point about humility when seeking credit.

The turtle had seen the might eagle soar above the earthbound creatures. He yearned to fly.

The turtle figured out a plan which would let him soar with the eagle. One day the turtle revealed his plan to the eagle. He had a sturdy stick which each would grasp in their beaks, and with the great power of the eagle's wings, the two could fly. The eagle was will to try.

The plan worked. The eagle and turtle soared above the creatures below who marveled at the sight of a turtle flying. One of the creatures hollered, "What a clever idea. Who thought it up?"

To be sure he got the credit, the turtle yelled back, "It was all my idea."

Before the turtle could hit the ground, Granddaddy had absorbed the point.

Sometime later in the week, Granddaddy saw Dr. Johnson. He went up to him and said, "L.D., I read your column last Sunday and I don't agree with it. When I do something special, I want to get credit for it."

To which L.D. replied, "Well, Schaefer, if you ever do anything special, we will make sure to give you credit."

Separate, But Not Equal

Dear Boo and Bubble,

In several previous blogs, I have talked with you about how things used to be when I was growing up and touched on the Civil Rights movement. I've also shared with you some of Great Granddaddy Schaefer's thoughts about these things and how his life's experiences led him to play an active role in Greenville's transition to a more fully integrated city in the late 60's and early 70's. (See November, 2012 – Understanding Changing Times and Now That's a Christmas Carol. Also, March 2013 – Evolution.)

This past Saturday, March 7, marked the 50^th anniversary of what has become known as Bloody Sunday, which was the first of three marches in 1965 from Selma, AL, to the state capital in Montgomery led by Martin Luther King in peaceful protest over the discrimination that African Americans faced in that state. The events of that day have become a linchpin in the timeline of the historic fight for Civil Rights in the United States. After leaving Selma, the 600 unarmed marchers were attacked at the Edmund Pettis Bridge by state troopers and a county posse with billy clubs and tear gas. Law enforcement beat Amelia Boynton, one of the main organizers of the march, until she was unconscious. The picture of her lying wounded on the bridge appeared in every significant newspaper of the time and on all major television networks. In many ways, the horror of the sight shocked the consciousness of the nation and served as part of the impetus to pass the Voting Rights Act the following August.

Even with the passage of substantial Federal statutes to address the injustices wrought by discrimination and segregation, change proved to be a long, arduous slog – with a particular resistance to the integration of the public schools. School districts, including Greenville, across the South negotiated with the Federal government to establish what became known as “separate but equal” systems. They pledged to devote equal resources to all schools in exchange for allowing blacks and whites to be separated as had historically been the case. Over time, it became apparent that under this guise, the scale tipped heavily in favor of the separate at the expense of the equal. Ultimately, the Supreme Court of the United States stepped in and ordered the Greenville County schools to integrate in January of 1970.

At the time, I was a senior at Furman University and in the middle of my practice teaching to complete my minor in Education. When the decision came down from the court, the implementation of the order was swift. My class on Friday was composed of one set of students – by Monday, a whole new set. The students were all very inquisitive about what was happening to them and, since my class was 11^th grade American History, I decided to make the experience a teachable moment. Instead of focusing on George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and Abraham Lincoln, we explored the chronology of Supreme Court decisions that had led us to that moment.

My advising teacher, Mrs. Hendricks, was in her late 60's and she tolerated my deviation from the curriculum until she could no longer stand it. It became a classic generational clash of perspectives and she finally stood me down in class in front of the students. The next day, I went back to page 215 of the textbook discussing Lewis and Clark's expedition.

The following year, after my graduation, I secured a teaching job in the history department of a brand new high school called Eastover, located between Greenville and Greer. It would be the first full year of integration and Eastover became sort of an oasis in the chaos swirling around the entire school district. Because it was new, every student there had been uprooted. There were no school colors or mascots already established. The yearbook had no name. All of the athletic teams started from scratch. In other words, it was a clean slate on which the black and white students could write their joint destiny.

From my experience in practice teaching, I knew that these eleventh graders had an interest in current events, so I decided to devote every Monday to that topic. I told them that every Sunday I would scour the front page of the Greenville News and pick out five names of import in what was happening – locally, statewide and nationally. First thing Monday morning, I would write these five names on the board. All they had to do for extra credit was to list them on a sheet of paper and identify who they were.

Unfortunately, I made two false assumptions in this process. First – that everyone had access to the newspaper; and second – that everyone could read.

Included in my very first quiz was Ralph Abernathy, a prominent black civil rights leader who, at the time, was head of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. I wrote his name on the board with four others and told the students to start.

As I strolled around the classroom, I came to one of my black student's desks. She had written the numbers 1 – 5 on her notebook paper, but nothing else. I leaned over and whispered in her ear.

“Do you not know any of these names?”

“No, Miss Kendrick, I don't,” she replied.

“Do you not know who Ralph Abernathy is?”

“Oh, yes, Ma'am. He's the head of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference,” she answered confidently.

“Well, don't you see his name up there?”

Her head sunk into her chest. She made a deep sigh.

“Miss Kendrick, I can't read.”

I was totally stunned. How could it be that someone in the eleventh grade did not know how to read?

She was not the only one. On that first Monday with my current event quiz, I came face-to-face with the absolute fallacy of the “separate but equal” approach to education. These students were not dumb – they were just illiterate. In order to be fair to them, for the remainder of the year, I conducted a dual testing system – written and oral. I figured if someone knew the answer to a question, that was the important thing, not the method of expression.

We have come a long way since then, but I hope the two of you will always appreciate the opportunities you have to be in good schools with supportive parents who insist you have a strong educational foundation. I often wonder what happened to those kids and I hope that, in some small way, I helped make life a little better for them.