Recognizing the significant obstacles that the child was going to face in developing a healthy self-image, Aibileen, the fictitious maid in the current cinematic smash hit, The Help, would religiously tell to the equally fictitious toddler, Mae Mobley Leefolt, "You is kind, you is smart, you is impor-tant." Simple, earnest, incredibly insightful and profound words. These words struck me because they are similar to those that my wife and I have said to our eleven-year-old daughter, who was born with mild cerebral palsy, almost every day of her life, particularly as we drive her to and drop her off at school. "Have the sweetest heart, be the best minder, do your best, and be happy." Funny how we can find so much of ourselves, so many parallels to our own lives in the works of others, in their songs, and movies, and books. Speaking of books...
You know, I wish that I loved to read...I really, really do...but I don't. Except for surfing the internet for info that I want or need, reading a little history and politics here and there, and perusing some sports news specific to my now limited interests, I don't even like reading, much less love it, a trait that is very unlikely to change at this late stage of the game. Thank goodness for the talents and gifts of screen writers, directors, and actors. Their artistic adaptations and interpretations provide non-readers, like me, with the opportunity to experience the essence of many outstanding and imaginative stories that we would otherwise never take the time to enjoy. After seeing The Help with my wife last Saturday evening, I can tell you that, were I ever to work up the "want to" to read a book, I would love to read the 2009 novel by Kathryn Stockett (amazingly her first) that the movie is based upon. A few weeks ago, I had not even heard of this book. The first time that I did was in a Facebook post. My cousin's daughter (that would make her my cousin, as well, of course) remarked that she had seen this movie and that, while it was quite good, it left her very disturbed. Having never heard of it, I had no inkling as to why or how it had affected her so. Now, I know.
The novel, screenplay, and movie take place against the backdrop of my childhood...in the white, middle class households of the South in the early 1960s (just as the Civil Rights movement was really beginning to percolate) that employed African-American women as domestic workers...no, as maids, or as many casually referred to them, as "the help" (thus, the title). In my house back growing up and even shared among the households of my extended family, we had our own Constantines, Aibileens, even our own Minny (hopefully, sans any "Eat my..." episodes). My second cousin, I realized after seeing the film, as a child of the North and a generation removed from this setting, had no real basis of experience to help her internalize the story line, so it makes great sense to me now how she might have been so troubled by what she saw portrayed in this movie. It especially makes sense, given the fact that seeing it left me profoundly afflicted, as well.
Central to the film's plot were the subtle, not so subtle, and overt words and actions, be they benignly or malevolently intended, of white Southerners during this "Leave it to Beaver" era that, over time, worked to strip away the self-esteem and minimize the humanity of these women who labored in their homes for ten hours a day, six days a week, cleaning, cooking meals, doing the laundry and ironing, and, in many instances, serving as surrogate mothers to their children. For someone of my generation, who grew up in this very setting, who remembers seeing the separate waiting rooms and water fountains for Blacks on the other end of the halls in the dentist's and doctor's offices, for someone who didn't attend school with a single person of color until the sixth grade and who remembers even a good and godly teacher calling that student "New Caledonia" when he addressed him (though I am not sure why or how referring to someone as an island in the South Pacific was a racial slur, I am certain that it was intended to be), watching as humiliation after humiliation, degradation upon degradation was heaped upon these fictional housekeepers, these characters playing thinking, feeling people with families, hopes, dreams, and problems of their own, was simultaneously poignant, heart rending, and just plain difficult to watch. As I did so, I returned to my childhood in my mind's eye, and I began to wonder and, perhaps, to agonize a bit. Was it ever like being in Hilly Holbrook's or Elizabeth Leefolt's households for the women who worked in my home? Did the members of my family ever make these ladies feel debased in any way? Even in the slightest, most unintended manner? Did I ever treat any of them in such a manner? God, I hoped not.
Fifty years removed, my crusty, old memory sheds no light on these vexing questions. My knowledge of my parents and their hearts tells me that they absolutely did not, could not have. My knowledge of my own heart leads me to hope that I didn't, tells me that I couldn't have, tells me that, hope upon hope, I wouldn't have. But the historian in me tells me that I just can't be sure that I/we never did. You see, goodness in people knows no boundaries on the calendar of history. There were good people in eras past, there are good people now, and there will be good among the people that have yet to be. Regardless of their goodness (or other attributes to the contrary), however, we are all products, to some degree, of the times in which we live, of our experiences. Case in point, Abraham Lincoln. Mr. Lincoln, of course, is hailed as one of the heroes of our nation, beloved by black and white, for having the courage to emancipate the slaves and to lead our nation through its darkest internal struggle. His courage an character are to admired and emulated, right? But even Lincoln was a product of the his times. In his fourth debate with Stephen A. Douglas in his 1858 campaign to for the US Senate seat from state of Illinois, Lincoln said the following: "I will say then that I am not, nor ever have been in favor of bringing about in anyway the social and political equality of the white and black races – that I am not nor ever have been in favor of making voters or jurors of negroes, nor of qualifying them to hold office, nor to intermarry with white people; and I will say in addition to this that there is a physical difference between the white and black races which I believe will forever forbid the two races living together on terms of social and political equality. And in as much as they cannot so live, while they do remain together there must be the position of superior and inferior, and I as much as any other man am in favor of having the superior position assigned to the white race...". Did he do a complete one-eighty regarding his prejudices when he issued the Emancipation Proclamation a little over four years later? I don't think so. Did he conclude that slavery as institution was wrong and did he make the decision that proclaiming Southern slaves to be free was a strategic and expedient gambit to increase Northern support for the war, to stir the pot of hope among Southern slaves, and to plant the seeds of paranoia in Confederate minds? Certainly. But I really don't think that the profound racism expressed in those words that he spoke in 1858 was cleansed away by some mythical mantle of morality that accompanies the Oath of Office. So is it possible that the parents and children of my generation, regardless of how pure of heart and intention, could have been guilty of at least some subtle mistreatment of those who most often toiled to make their houses homes, making them to feel as though they were second-class citizens? Yep, it's possible...very possible. But God, I hope not.
Like I said, this movie is discombobulating on so many levels to anyone with a conscience, but especially so to those who could see and feel snapshots of their own childhood in vignettes from the film, scenes so visceral in their familiarity. The movie made me sad. It made me reflective. Reflective about my words and actions, past and present, as well as about those of others. See, I don't understand how we purposefully hurt other people. Almost all of us have hurt or mistreated others in some way at some time, but it is hard to understand it when it is premeditated or calculated. Every iota of hurt that I have ever caused has made my heart hurt. And I especially don't understand how people can be violent towards others for any reason other than self-defense. I mean attacking someone simply because they pull for a different sports team, really? Seriously? I guess the positive thing about having your psychological and emotional cage rattled is that sometimes it can change your behaviors and your perspective. The experience of seeing this movie left me more determined to treat the people that I come into contact with in this life civilly, to treat them with respect and dignity. And I'm not talking about the people that it is easiest to treat that way. No, I'm talking about those that I come into contact with casually, that answer my customer service calls on the phone (I was so nice to that lady that I could not understand that tried to help me with a phone issue yesterday!), that wait on me in the restaurant, that I pass on the street, even those that, through their own words and actions, don't even necessarily seem to deserve it or that don't respond to me in kind. While I've never been unkind to any of these groups that I am aware of, I will make an extra special endeavor to treat illegal aliens, the Chinese, and Democrats with the utmost respect and civility (Disclaimer: this does not mean, however, that I will concede that is okay to break the law, or to try to dominate my country, or that I will agree with a liberal point of view). Seeing The Help has reinforced to me that all of God's children deserve to be treated as though, to feel as though they "is impor-tant."
This week, I added this to her verbal fare on the way to school in the morning, "You is kind, you is smart, you is impor-tant...". As the ancient Chinese proverb (aren't they all?) states, so very often art merely imitates life...and in this case, vice versa. Why don't you go out today make someone feel important?
You know, I wish that I loved to read...I really, really do...but I don't. Except for surfing the internet for info that I want or need, reading a little history and politics here and there, and perusing some sports news specific to my now limited interests, I don't even like reading, much less love it, a trait that is very unlikely to change at this late stage of the game. Thank goodness for the talents and gifts of screen writers, directors, and actors. Their artistic adaptations and interpretations provide non-readers, like me, with the opportunity to experience the essence of many outstanding and imaginative stories that we would otherwise never take the time to enjoy. After seeing The Help with my wife last Saturday evening, I can tell you that, were I ever to work up the "want to" to read a book, I would love to read the 2009 novel by Kathryn Stockett (amazingly her first) that the movie is based upon. A few weeks ago, I had not even heard of this book. The first time that I did was in a Facebook post. My cousin's daughter (that would make her my cousin, as well, of course) remarked that she had seen this movie and that, while it was quite good, it left her very disturbed. Having never heard of it, I had no inkling as to why or how it had affected her so. Now, I know.
The novel, screenplay, and movie take place against the backdrop of my childhood...in the white, middle class households of the South in the early 1960s (just as the Civil Rights movement was really beginning to percolate) that employed African-American women as domestic workers...no, as maids, or as many casually referred to them, as "the help" (thus, the title). In my house back growing up and even shared among the households of my extended family, we had our own Constantines, Aibileens, even our own Minny (hopefully, sans any "Eat my..." episodes). My second cousin, I realized after seeing the film, as a child of the North and a generation removed from this setting, had no real basis of experience to help her internalize the story line, so it makes great sense to me now how she might have been so troubled by what she saw portrayed in this movie. It especially makes sense, given the fact that seeing it left me profoundly afflicted, as well.
Central to the film's plot were the subtle, not so subtle, and overt words and actions, be they benignly or malevolently intended, of white Southerners during this "Leave it to Beaver" era that, over time, worked to strip away the self-esteem and minimize the humanity of these women who labored in their homes for ten hours a day, six days a week, cleaning, cooking meals, doing the laundry and ironing, and, in many instances, serving as surrogate mothers to their children. For someone of my generation, who grew up in this very setting, who remembers seeing the separate waiting rooms and water fountains for Blacks on the other end of the halls in the dentist's and doctor's offices, for someone who didn't attend school with a single person of color until the sixth grade and who remembers even a good and godly teacher calling that student "New Caledonia" when he addressed him (though I am not sure why or how referring to someone as an island in the South Pacific was a racial slur, I am certain that it was intended to be), watching as humiliation after humiliation, degradation upon degradation was heaped upon these fictional housekeepers, these characters playing thinking, feeling people with families, hopes, dreams, and problems of their own, was simultaneously poignant, heart rending, and just plain difficult to watch. As I did so, I returned to my childhood in my mind's eye, and I began to wonder and, perhaps, to agonize a bit. Was it ever like being in Hilly Holbrook's or Elizabeth Leefolt's households for the women who worked in my home? Did the members of my family ever make these ladies feel debased in any way? Even in the slightest, most unintended manner? Did I ever treat any of them in such a manner? God, I hoped not.
Fifty years removed, my crusty, old memory sheds no light on these vexing questions. My knowledge of my parents and their hearts tells me that they absolutely did not, could not have. My knowledge of my own heart leads me to hope that I didn't, tells me that I couldn't have, tells me that, hope upon hope, I wouldn't have. But the historian in me tells me that I just can't be sure that I/we never did. You see, goodness in people knows no boundaries on the calendar of history. There were good people in eras past, there are good people now, and there will be good among the people that have yet to be. Regardless of their goodness (or other attributes to the contrary), however, we are all products, to some degree, of the times in which we live, of our experiences. Case in point, Abraham Lincoln. Mr. Lincoln, of course, is hailed as one of the heroes of our nation, beloved by black and white, for having the courage to emancipate the slaves and to lead our nation through its darkest internal struggle. His courage an character are to admired and emulated, right? But even Lincoln was a product of the his times. In his fourth debate with Stephen A. Douglas in his 1858 campaign to for the US Senate seat from state of Illinois, Lincoln said the following: "I will say then that I am not, nor ever have been in favor of bringing about in anyway the social and political equality of the white and black races – that I am not nor ever have been in favor of making voters or jurors of negroes, nor of qualifying them to hold office, nor to intermarry with white people; and I will say in addition to this that there is a physical difference between the white and black races which I believe will forever forbid the two races living together on terms of social and political equality. And in as much as they cannot so live, while they do remain together there must be the position of superior and inferior, and I as much as any other man am in favor of having the superior position assigned to the white race...". Did he do a complete one-eighty regarding his prejudices when he issued the Emancipation Proclamation a little over four years later? I don't think so. Did he conclude that slavery as institution was wrong and did he make the decision that proclaiming Southern slaves to be free was a strategic and expedient gambit to increase Northern support for the war, to stir the pot of hope among Southern slaves, and to plant the seeds of paranoia in Confederate minds? Certainly. But I really don't think that the profound racism expressed in those words that he spoke in 1858 was cleansed away by some mythical mantle of morality that accompanies the Oath of Office. So is it possible that the parents and children of my generation, regardless of how pure of heart and intention, could have been guilty of at least some subtle mistreatment of those who most often toiled to make their houses homes, making them to feel as though they were second-class citizens? Yep, it's possible...very possible. But God, I hope not.
Like I said, this movie is discombobulating on so many levels to anyone with a conscience, but especially so to those who could see and feel snapshots of their own childhood in vignettes from the film, scenes so visceral in their familiarity. The movie made me sad. It made me reflective. Reflective about my words and actions, past and present, as well as about those of others. See, I don't understand how we purposefully hurt other people. Almost all of us have hurt or mistreated others in some way at some time, but it is hard to understand it when it is premeditated or calculated. Every iota of hurt that I have ever caused has made my heart hurt. And I especially don't understand how people can be violent towards others for any reason other than self-defense. I mean attacking someone simply because they pull for a different sports team, really? Seriously? I guess the positive thing about having your psychological and emotional cage rattled is that sometimes it can change your behaviors and your perspective. The experience of seeing this movie left me more determined to treat the people that I come into contact with in this life civilly, to treat them with respect and dignity. And I'm not talking about the people that it is easiest to treat that way. No, I'm talking about those that I come into contact with casually, that answer my customer service calls on the phone (I was so nice to that lady that I could not understand that tried to help me with a phone issue yesterday!), that wait on me in the restaurant, that I pass on the street, even those that, through their own words and actions, don't even necessarily seem to deserve it or that don't respond to me in kind. While I've never been unkind to any of these groups that I am aware of, I will make an extra special endeavor to treat illegal aliens, the Chinese, and Democrats with the utmost respect and civility (Disclaimer: this does not mean, however, that I will concede that is okay to break the law, or to try to dominate my country, or that I will agree with a liberal point of view). Seeing The Help has reinforced to me that all of God's children deserve to be treated as though, to feel as though they "is impor-tant."
This week, I added this to her verbal fare on the way to school in the morning, "You is kind, you is smart, you is impor-tant...". As the ancient Chinese proverb (aren't they all?) states, so very often art merely imitates life...and in this case, vice versa. Why don't you go out today make someone feel important?
