Flesh in the Game

Dear Maria,

Yes, yes, I am well aware of the passage of time. Just could not in my mind seem to reconcile recent events with rambling on for a bit about bluebirds and roses and strong winds. To every season, I suppose, but at least now this long-delayed letter.

I know you are deeply aware of the crime that took the lives of nine Charlestonians. And then the subsequent and continuing uproar over where we seem to be as a society. For me, beyond symbols and history and politics, is a compassion to be leveraged between whatever feelings I might have and the devastation being experienced by families and friends and colleagues of those slain.

Turns out that somewhere I have—or maybe my mother has—a news clipping proclaiming a distant ancestor’s despair and anger because Sherman’s March disrupted the return of her husband’s casket—a cannonball took his head. Her grief, I am sure, was deep. No single word for such emotions.

To be candid, I feel no emotive link to my ancestor’s pain. I can only imagine. However, even if I did, I cannot see how I might sit in front of the families of those murdered at Emanuel A.M.E. and equate loss with loss. And link my family’s loss to a flag as a sacred symbol that should trump their loss?

Can’t do it. Can’t make that leap. I don’t know what my ancestor thought he was fighting for, but slavery nullifies any consideration on that point. As does racism now.

A friend of mine once wanted to offer up a question after labeling me as a mainstream American. I redirected—longstream is the term I prefer. The Sunni-Shia conflict spans 14 centuries. Will we be beyond our divides in 3200?

Speaking of bluebirds, and I was—forgive a dull old saw like that one—my little couple seems to be in the second go-round of family-making, and several weeks ago, Max and I, as we rounded the final turn on the morning walk, saw a flight of 7 bluebirds on the wing at top speed across our paths. Impressive.

More: The neighborhood pair of kites finally returned last week. The roses are spiking upwards like it is autumn. Crape myrtle still hasn’t bloomed, but close. Not sure what is going on season-wise.

Maybe I should keep updating the progress of birds and flowers and weather. At least as a counterpoint to the rest of world that seems a bit mad at times to me.

Hope summer is as summer should be for you and your family.

Yep, yours, srk