Category — Privileged

When I awoke this morning, I had the words of my title in mind, but I was remembering an old Negro spiritual we used to sing in church. “How I got over. How I got over. My soul looks back and wonders, how I got over.” I remember my mother, grandmother and others singing it with gusto, thanking God for helping them to “make it through.” Then I typed in the words on YouTube, and found this song by The Roots, and it changed my whole attitude.

Rather than praise and worship, the words, music and images took my heart and mind into a totally different mood of distress, despair and disturbance. Tears began to flow, and my heart began to ache. For I remember, can almost smell and feel, the sensations of the people portrayed in the video; because it wasn’t too long ago that their plight was my own, and it hit too close to home.

I sit now, at my computer, with my heater going full blast in my cozy third-floor apartment overlooking a majestic oak tree, while the capitol building of the state of California is at the end of my block. There are limos, Lamborghini-es, and other luxury cars nightly pulling up to the restaurants, coffee houses and cafes that line my street.

Happy people sitting outside having lunch, dinner or just over coffee fill the air with their laughter and content. They smile and some even nod as I pass, thinking and accepting me as one of them, an equal. But I wonder what they would think about me if they knew that it wasn’t too long ago that I was homeless, living in a shelter with my two kids…friendless and alone? Would their looks be diverted away from me?

This is not the way I envisioned my day going when I woke up full of gratitude and rejoicing this morning. I had no intention of spending my morning revisiting an episode in my life that I seldom visit anymore. Not that I am trying to forget it, because I think it plays a significant part in my current sense of empathy. But today was not going to be one of those days when it would come back to me with such force, with a video as stark evidence that what happened then was real to me, just as now it’s very real to others.

But now that I think of it, both the rejoicing and the pain belong to me. I embrace them as value which has been added to my life. For without the pain there would be no joy. I would not know that it is possible to overcome and not be genuine in sharing that hopeful message with others. I would also not be able to serve as an example to those who think themselves above and beyond the possibilities of becoming like their less fortunate neighbors. It can happen to anyone.

There is a message for all of us in this, I think. For me, reminiscing keeps me grounded. For those who are struggling, I wish them God’s best. For those who are reading this, I hope it stirs something in you to reach out to even one in whatever way you can to those disenfranchised by the state of their birth or whatever life has thrown their way. A simple smile of encouragement will go a long way, and with just a little help one day those who are suffering won’t have to wonder how they got over, they will know.

Watching the movie, “Dreamgirls,” one of the messages struck me very strongly. To paraphrase, it was “having all the privileges, without taking responsibility.” It made me wonder if that’s the way most people who have “privilege” think life is supposed to go. We see it all the time in celebrities and leaders who are in the news and on magazine shelves living lives seemingly without responsibility.

These are people we think should know better because we look up to them with admiration and respect and follow their every act with absorbed curiosity. Their lifestyles, however, are often less self-controlled than our own. Their names are constantly connected to illicit affairs, the break-up of marriages and families, drugs, alcohol, rehab centers, jail or prison, suicides, overdoses, embezzlements, etc., etc.

There are millions of people not in the limelight, however, who trudge to their jobs and businesses everyday and keep the homes fires burning. Those who are being responsible, but are generally ignored and unappreciated should have a holiday declared in their honor called “The Salt of the Earth Day.” This special day should be dedicated to all who are paying dues but not making news.

All those moms and dads and single parents struggling to make homes for their children; those teachers whose patience is stretched beyond the limit; the government workers with demanding clients; the clean-up and maintenance crews everywhere; small business owners trying to serve their customers; doctors, nurses, pastors, counselors, lawyers, firemen, and police officers, who are dedicated in their missions; the writers, athletes and entertainers who give their all for their audiences; and all the rest who do their best on a daily basis.

I believe the ones who take their responsibilities seriously are the “Salt of the Earth,” and whether or not they get recognition may not be their main concern, but they earn and deserve the right to be included among the privileged.

The Salt of the Earth