Thank you for sharing this. I was born in 1956 in Greensboro, NC. We were a white lower middle class family and we had someone come in to care for us when my mom had to go back to work. Her name was Rosa. I was very comfortable with her and remember Rosa ironing as well. I had a baby doll that I dearly loved. One day when I was too young to know better my (not-much-older but obviously knew better) brother told me to ask the milkman if he wanted to play with my little n-word (saying the word) baby doll. I must have heard the word in my home but had no idea that it was in any way hurtful. When Rosa heard me ask the question she brought us both inside and gave us a spanking. I quickly learned about names and their importance. This is one of my earliest, transformative memories. (wish I could share the photo of my with my doll). For the past 2+ years I've been working to name the enslaved members, communicants, and baptized at a local predominantly white Presbyterian church (established in 1767). Over 140 first names were read aloud during last year's homecoming. Present was Doris, whose relative, Ellen, was among those named. It was powerful. There is so much work to be done. Names are powerful. Truth is light and is freeing for everyone.
This is truly wonderful and puts into perspective what happened the past few days in Washington and has been happening throughout history to women. My mother named me Elizabeth Layne Wampler , Layne spelled with a 'Y" , not" Lane" . She would have a fit if anyone spelled it incorrectly and I do the same every time someone leaves out the "y." Your essay helped explain why we both had the same reaction. Thank you as always for your wisdom and words. Libby Layne
Thank you for this wonderful article. I was raised for 10 years in Kentucky. My parents were progressive also and the school I went to in junior high was integrated. We moved back to New Hampshire when I was a freshman in high school. Members of our family here seemed to be more prejudiced than what we experienced in Kentucky. I have watched portions of the hearing for our new Supreme Court Justice and it is hard to take in how much prejudice is still being shown at this time in our history. May God's hand guide everyone to the proper discernment.
EZER! So Progressive for 'P'. :-) My mother was the lone "liberal" in my family 'til I dated a black girl. My elders were revered, yet I would become speechless as a child when they used words which said "less than human." Detroit. Then, King was murdered. Dad wept. I believe his grief was twofold.
When history books are written, Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson will be remembered as the first Black woman to be nominated to the Supreme Court. She will likely be the first Black woman to serve on the court while people like Ted Cruz, Josh Hawley and Lindsey Graham will be lucky if they make it into the footnotes.
Lovely. My parents also had "help." Her name was Ethel. I never knew her last name and I never thought about the fact that I never knew her last name. My mother couldn't notify her when my father died -- Ethel had worked for them for 25 years, but my mother had always paid her in cash and didn't know her last name either, so she couldn't look up her address or phone number.
Even though I am struggling for words, I simply could not read your piece, and then move on silently. Ketanji Onyika Jackson Brown is truly "lovely one". It is extremely upsetting to watch mostly men try to demean her and discredit her. They are not worthy of the power they have, let alone the responsibility they have been given. But Ketanji Brown Jackson stands for eternal qualities that cannot be destroyed, namely, truth, justice, fairness, and compassion. I am so glad you wrote this. My heart aches for the women whose work "disappears with the using" and all too often, as you write, we never know their names as well. Like another woman, I can only watch the hearings in bits and pieces. It is infuriating to watch a few political jackals surround her hoping to bring her down. I pray that goodness, decency and fairness will prevail.
What a beautiful essay. Names are so powerful. I have not watched the hearings here in Canada, but have followed them vicariously through various Twitter accounts. The way this capable, strong, gifted woman is being treated sickens me. I affirm her, and I affirm all women who stand up for ourselves and affirm our reality and our identity. I have always loved my first name, and came to love my second name (my maternal grandmother's name) when I found out it meant "purity of soul". My first name apparently derives from the name Hulda and could variously mean, noble, cheerful or warrior woman - all of which is fabulous! I also grew up unaware of the racism around me. I grew up in northern Canada and felt that relations between the Caucasian community and the First Nations were pretty equitable as there were no "reserves" such as there were in the south. I am only now finding out just how wrong I was. Thank-you for your writing ministry.
Thanks for this insightful piece, Diana. As I read, the name of one of the only blacks I knew growing up, Rose Wilson, came to mind for the first time in years. She was a quiet, gentle lady with a fantastic smile that faithfully worked at the local laundromat.
Like much of your work, Diana, this beautiful essay moves me to tears. Your Baltimore setting reminds me of Countee Cullen’s classic poem, “Incident,” a gut-wrenching reminder of the power of racism. As you point out—and many of these comments affirm—it can be hard to divest ourselves of the shame of such childhood sin. Again, though, you skillfully weave grace into your narrative, offering hope and encouragement to readers like me who wonder often if we will ever get it right. Thank you!
Have been missing you. Is everything alright?
I love this article
Thank you for sharing this. I was born in 1956 in Greensboro, NC. We were a white lower middle class family and we had someone come in to care for us when my mom had to go back to work. Her name was Rosa. I was very comfortable with her and remember Rosa ironing as well. I had a baby doll that I dearly loved. One day when I was too young to know better my (not-much-older but obviously knew better) brother told me to ask the milkman if he wanted to play with my little n-word (saying the word) baby doll. I must have heard the word in my home but had no idea that it was in any way hurtful. When Rosa heard me ask the question she brought us both inside and gave us a spanking. I quickly learned about names and their importance. This is one of my earliest, transformative memories. (wish I could share the photo of my with my doll). For the past 2+ years I've been working to name the enslaved members, communicants, and baptized at a local predominantly white Presbyterian church (established in 1767). Over 140 first names were read aloud during last year's homecoming. Present was Doris, whose relative, Ellen, was among those named. It was powerful. There is so much work to be done. Names are powerful. Truth is light and is freeing for everyone.
This is truly wonderful and puts into perspective what happened the past few days in Washington and has been happening throughout history to women. My mother named me Elizabeth Layne Wampler , Layne spelled with a 'Y" , not" Lane" . She would have a fit if anyone spelled it incorrectly and I do the same every time someone leaves out the "y." Your essay helped explain why we both had the same reaction. Thank you as always for your wisdom and words. Libby Layne
Thank you for pushing back the self-only crowd with eloquence and humanity.
Thank you for this wonderful article. I was raised for 10 years in Kentucky. My parents were progressive also and the school I went to in junior high was integrated. We moved back to New Hampshire when I was a freshman in high school. Members of our family here seemed to be more prejudiced than what we experienced in Kentucky. I have watched portions of the hearing for our new Supreme Court Justice and it is hard to take in how much prejudice is still being shown at this time in our history. May God's hand guide everyone to the proper discernment.
EZER! So Progressive for 'P'. :-) My mother was the lone "liberal" in my family 'til I dated a black girl. My elders were revered, yet I would become speechless as a child when they used words which said "less than human." Detroit. Then, King was murdered. Dad wept. I believe his grief was twofold.
When history books are written, Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson will be remembered as the first Black woman to be nominated to the Supreme Court. She will likely be the first Black woman to serve on the court while people like Ted Cruz, Josh Hawley and Lindsey Graham will be lucky if they make it into the footnotes.
Lovely. My parents also had "help." Her name was Ethel. I never knew her last name and I never thought about the fact that I never knew her last name. My mother couldn't notify her when my father died -- Ethel had worked for them for 25 years, but my mother had always paid her in cash and didn't know her last name either, so she couldn't look up her address or phone number.
Even though I am struggling for words, I simply could not read your piece, and then move on silently. Ketanji Onyika Jackson Brown is truly "lovely one". It is extremely upsetting to watch mostly men try to demean her and discredit her. They are not worthy of the power they have, let alone the responsibility they have been given. But Ketanji Brown Jackson stands for eternal qualities that cannot be destroyed, namely, truth, justice, fairness, and compassion. I am so glad you wrote this. My heart aches for the women whose work "disappears with the using" and all too often, as you write, we never know their names as well. Like another woman, I can only watch the hearings in bits and pieces. It is infuriating to watch a few political jackals surround her hoping to bring her down. I pray that goodness, decency and fairness will prevail.
What a beautiful essay. Names are so powerful. I have not watched the hearings here in Canada, but have followed them vicariously through various Twitter accounts. The way this capable, strong, gifted woman is being treated sickens me. I affirm her, and I affirm all women who stand up for ourselves and affirm our reality and our identity. I have always loved my first name, and came to love my second name (my maternal grandmother's name) when I found out it meant "purity of soul". My first name apparently derives from the name Hulda and could variously mean, noble, cheerful or warrior woman - all of which is fabulous! I also grew up unaware of the racism around me. I grew up in northern Canada and felt that relations between the Caucasian community and the First Nations were pretty equitable as there were no "reserves" such as there were in the south. I am only now finding out just how wrong I was. Thank-you for your writing ministry.
that is what tradition says.
I am moved, once again, by the way you speak of difficult truths with grace and hope for the future
Thanks for this insightful piece, Diana. As I read, the name of one of the only blacks I knew growing up, Rose Wilson, came to mind for the first time in years. She was a quiet, gentle lady with a fantastic smile that faithfully worked at the local laundromat.
Thank you Diana.
Like much of your work, Diana, this beautiful essay moves me to tears. Your Baltimore setting reminds me of Countee Cullen’s classic poem, “Incident,” a gut-wrenching reminder of the power of racism. As you point out—and many of these comments affirm—it can be hard to divest ourselves of the shame of such childhood sin. Again, though, you skillfully weave grace into your narrative, offering hope and encouragement to readers like me who wonder often if we will ever get it right. Thank you!