"I have a deam"

I do not remember the now famous "I have a dream" speech. 

If you know me, you know that my saying I don't remember anything is a stretch.   I don't remember it because the plight of people whose skin was a different color than mine didn't seem to be a  consideration in my upbringing.  My siblings and I were taught to be kind to everyone - that was the "Christian thing to do". 

In the fifty years since that time, however, I have heard remarks from my dad that made me think he was a racist.   In fact I have been known to make disparaging remarks about him, saying that he was both a racist and a sexist only to be reminded by my children that "granddaddy was more a part of his generation than he was anything else" so I've learned to give him some slack rather than be critical of a father that I really loved and admired. 

And when I dig deep and remember the depth of love for others that both of my parents had, not to mention the way they believed in serving God, I know that we were taught that we are  all God's children.  

They even took us to Sunday school where we sang "Jesus loves the little children...red and yellow black and white - they are precious in His sight" and I think we meant it when we said it.

And then I read Black Like Me by John Howard Griffin who artificially darkened his skin to pass as a black man.  And I came to understand that some people, people who would be considered to be "good Christians", didn't really think that song we sang in Sunday school was true. 

When I was a junior in high school (shortly after the Walk on Washington when Martin Luther King, Jr. made his now famous "I have a dream" speech),  I wrote a short story about a the daughter of a plantation owner's friendship with with the daughter of one of the family's slaves. My teacher told me I was "dreaming", that would never happen. 

Was he right?  According to what we know about history - probably.

But that concept has never left my creative spirit - or my sense of God loving us all equally either for that matter.  I wrote another short story about a young white mother who had been widowed who fell in love with the black butler...and my idea was far from original.

The concept? We really are all the same.

Hum.

I remember vividly the first Martin Luther King holiday.  My children were in elementary and middle school.  I came home from work to find them saying repeatedly "I have a dream that some day my little black children will walk hand in hand with white children...".

And has that dream come true? I hope so but sometimes I'm not so sure.  I do know that the suggestion made in a song by Swedish pop group, Abba, makes a lot of sense to me.

"I have a dream, a song to sing  - To help me cope with anything
If you see the wonder of a fairy tale - You can take the future even if you fail
I believe in angels - Something good in everything I see
I believe in angels - When I know the time is right for me
I'll cross the stream - I have a dream"

Sometimes dreams come true - but that's another story!

You have to own it

"Each time I write a book", says Maya Angelou, "I think, 'Uh, oh, they're going to find out now.  I've run a game on everybody and they're going to find me out."

I did some research to see exactly how many books Angelou has written and found at least 30.

Guess we haven't discovered anyone running a game when it comes to this renown author, poet, speaker, and who is, according to her website, a Reynolds Professor of American Studies at Wake Forest University (that's big to me; many years ago, a favorite pastime was walking on the campus of Wake Forest in Winston-Salem, North Carolina).

I think she's a writer - don't you?

How about Sarah Ban Breathnach, the author of one of my favorite books, Simple Abundance, A Daybook of Comfort and Joy.  In the pages of that book I read that after she had written her first book, she had a difficult time referring to herself as the writer of the book.

Breathnach was having a heart to heart with her sister, Maureen, who told her that  it was high time for her to own up to her talent.  Breathnach said that she had found comfort in thinking of herself as a wordsmith, not a "real writer".

My aunt, Beth Weitzel gave me this book many years ago.  I put it on the shelf thinking - I"ll read it one of these days.  Later a copy arrived from my friend, Deborah Fairchild Hansen and I thought "Hum - two people I value have thought I should read this...".  Better check it out.

So I did and it's been a daily encouragement to me - after devotional reading.  And sometimes, just like the words from Scripture help me, so do these words.

Especially this week the words  about owning my talent.

My what? Do I have talent?  I must.  At least others (my mother, my siblings, my children and other family members and now my friends, my peers and my editor) seem to think so and they have encouraged me beyond anything I ever dreamed.

I have written before of a writer's conference experience where I said "She's the writer" when talking about Deb Hansen.  She was a bit irritated with me as she said, "so why are you here?"

"Okay", I said, "I'm a writer".

I started saying it, told my children and grandchildren that when asked what their mother/grandmother does for a living to say "she's a writer", and I paid attention to what I was hearing.

So this is a formal acknowledgement .

I'm going to own it - I am a writer!

It's also a note of appreciation.  I would never try to name the people who have encouraged me in my quest to become a "real writer" but I so appreciate their support.  From  Ray to Rich to Coulter (with a couple 'of 'love interests' in between) and so many of  my family members and friends - especially Tamra, Sandy, Diane, Debbie, Virginia...you have me convinced.

So did the check that came from Beson4 publications :) and the contact pages on HealthSource, Mature Matters and North Florida Doctor - the ones that list the names of contributing writers and where I see the name Paula Huffingham-Suhey!

Duct Tape Items for Sale

 

Hi, my name is Allie... one of Paula Suheys AWESOME grandchildren.

I make things out of duct tape. I have a few items I would like to advertise now.




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Or should I just keep quiet?

My friend, Emily Anne just got a great promotion.  Her husband is the stay at home dad of their two little girls.

"We are going to join the Y; he can work out and the girls can go to the play area with other children," she said.

"That's wonderful", I replied.  "That gives him some time alone and it will be so good for the girls to be able to interact with other children".

And then I thought - oh my -- I'm really getting into their business aren't I?

So I apologized.

And Emily Anne responded.

"Oh, no, I like it when you tell me what you think.  In fact, I think it's a sin to know something and not share it". 

Wow.  I don't think anyone ever told me that.

I was reminded of a verse in the book of James (4:17 to be exact).  If I know something I should say something - right?

Well - in that case, it seemed to work out well.  But not every thought I have about how someone else should be should be shared.  I do not have to confront every situation I am faced with and I really need to be "prayed" up as the old saying goes before I say anything - because one simple statement can easily become a confrontation.  And I really don't want that.

In fact, that's why I sometimes shy away from confronting.  And it's not always because I don't want to hurt someone's feelings.  Many times, it's because I don't want my feelings to be hurt.  If I experience something that is unpleasant with family or friends, my tendency is to keep my mouth shut because I fear rejection.

Obviously, I felt very safe in my relationship with my friend. And I had no motive.  I wasn't looking for acceptance, appreciation or affirmation.

I was merely sharing an opinion, one that was met with acceptance and appreciation and I felt affirmed in our friendship.

So it continues to have me in a quandary - do I share my opinions - or should I just keep quiet?

I'll always remember...

I'll always remember Papa
 (Theodore James Huffingham 4/20/1898 - 2/12/1967) -
especially when I get a headache from eating ice cream.  That's because when I was about four years old,  he taught me that if I get a drink of water when that happens, the pain will go away.  I'll also remember riding with him and his wife (Aunt Grace) to check lights.  He worked for General Outdoor and we had to make sure that the lights that illuminated the billboards throughout Jacksonville were "on".  I remember that he called me Paula Raye and I still have the letter he sent me when I got my engagement ring.  He wanted to know where I was registered.  He died in February before I was married and Aunt Grace made my wedding cake (pound cake with coconut which had been a favorite of his).


And I will always remember - Granddaddy
 (Ellie Wallace Nesmith 5/12/1897-3/23/1994)
especially when I write something.  It was granddaddy who sat me down on a bench in about 1985 and said "sister - when you write something, you need to sign it.  Someday you will have grandchildren who need to read your words and find out what a good writer their grandmother was".  He also told me not to live with someone until I couldn't live without them (he meant get married to someone etc) and he taught us all to love and serve God - he taught us that by example.

And OF COURSE  I will always remember - daddy - 

(Earl Ray Huffingham - 12/18/1921 - 9/16/2009)

 

especially when I realize I am driving too fast (he always told me I didn't have to make Red Gap by sundown when he thought I was putting too much pedal to the medal); when I watch the Gators play (football, basketball, baseball) or a golf tournament (I hope Phil wins the US Open today - daddy would like that) and when the wind chimes on my back porch are saying good morning (daddy repaired them but that's another story).

 

I especially think of my dad when I see my children and know how much he had to do with the persons they all are today.

 

The night before his memorial when his pastor, Rev. Kevin Pound, asked me what I liked best about him, I said "that I am his child".  The way I look at it - much of who daddy and mother were (and are) have made me the woman I think I am today and most of the time - that's pretty good. 

 

I'm grateful for my dad, for his dad (Papa) and my mother's dad (Granddaddy).  I am also grateful for the father of my children.  Our children inherited some of their best characteristics from Ray Parker.

 

I often tell them (Becca, Renee and Tray) that one of the best things I gave them - is the family that they were born to.  We are truly blessed.

 

 

A dad for Tray

Tray is my third child and only son.  He has always been my buddy - even when we are disagreeing about something.  He is now 35 years old and he can still melt my heart.

He was in the 6th grade - and I thought he needed a dad.

Of course, he had a father.  But his father from whom I was divorced and had been since he was six, lived many miles away from us.

And he had a grandfather - actually, he had two grandfathers and a great-grandfather.

And he had three uncles - and I had a couple of close male friends who came round every now and then.

But I thought he needed a dad - someone who would help him grow up, someone who would discipline him with a stern hand.. And how was he ever going to learn to be a father if he didn't have a role model - up close and personal.

At least, that's what I thought.  I don't know what he thought - or if he "thought".

At any rate, I began to pray earnestly that some nice, handsome, caring, athletic man would come into our lives.

It was all about my son.

And then I met Kathy McCalpin.  She was the divorced mom of a darling little girl named Amanda - but really missed not having a little boy - and we became friends.  And Kathy "fell in love" with my 6th grader.  She thought he was the cutest thing, laughed at his jokes, listened to him, watched him play baseball. and really treated him with much special love and care.

My role changed.  I learned that I could be a bit more strict (not a lot, I know).  I could discipline.  I could have a firm hand.

And I realized it was really all about me.

I had not been looking for a dad for Tray, but looking for a man for myself.

Tray would be a freshman in college before a man came into my life.

Today - he is the father of two little girls.  He appears to be a wonderful dad - something that I credit to the genes he inherited from his dad and his papaw, Raymond Parker, Sr., my dad, my brothers, my male friends, and the mother of his children.

Oh yes - and Kathy McCalpin who became the fluff in Tray's life - so I could be the "bad guy"

It's funny how God answers our prayers!

The gardenia has a blossom

I've been watching and watching all week, in hopes that one of the gardenias at my front door would be would be filled with blossoms.  But alas.  No blossoms.

Until this morning - one blossom - small, as it were, but a blossom.

And why was it so important to me that there be blossoms?

Because on May 31, 2000 as I left Jacksonville to go to Tampa for the birth of my first grandchild, a gardenia bush that was along my walkway was filled with blossoms and I have always associated them with the night that Abigail Jane was born.

That was 13 years ago. 

My greatest excitement that night was not that I was about to become a grandmother.  It was all about the fact that my daughter, Renee, who has loved babies ALL her life was about to have one of her own.

Fortunately for me (though probably not for Renee), that baby was slow to come (kind of like those gardenias that I've been watching). My Jacksonville children and I made it to Tampa in time for the delivery.

I'll never forget her words "Look what I've done, mom."

I was so happy that Renee was a mother.  It was slow to dawn on me that I was now a grandmother.

In fact, it took much longer.  Longer even than the time that I've been watching for those gardenias to bloom.

However, once Abbie spent a morning with me about eight months later, it all made sense.  The two of us became pals.  Since that time, we have stayed pals.  We have shared the adventure of getting lost (when her little sister, Allie, was born three years later); we have shared secrets (when I used to sleep in her room and she suggested I should move to Tampa - including the idea that she it all figured out as to where I could work and live) and we share a great love for her mother.

Of course, Abbie is special because she is my first grandchild, but I always tell her she just opened the door to what for me has been the opportunity of a life time.   By now, I am one of the silly old grandmothers with a purse fill of photographs and ALWAYS a new story about one of my seven.

In our birthday visit (via cell phone) earlier today, she told me that she got make up, her first pair of heels and will soon have her ears pierced and that although she thinks boys are "ugly", she did enjoy her first boy / girl party not too long ago.

Oh help.

Okay Abbie.  Here's where the gardenia's going to come in.  When I was a teenager, I heard a missionary talk about how our lives are like a gardenia.  Did you know that one touch of a gardenia and your finger leaves a spot on the pretty flower?  I never really liked that story to be honest but I think it's a good reminder that we should always be aware that we want our lives to count for God and that we should be careful not to do anything that is going to mar our beauty.

Abbie also told me that when she signs her name - she puts a reference to three verses of Scripture that she feels are important.  I think if she always has these verses as a part of her life, she will stay just as beautiful as she is becoming.

"Rejoice always, pray all the time; be thankful for everything that comes into your life"  I Thessalonians 5:16-18 paraphrased by her grandma.

Welcome to the world of being a teenager, my little Abbra Caddabra - and blessings on you (and your mom and dad!)