I had heard of Juneteenth before June of 2020, but I wasn’t really listening or paying attention. Pre-COVID 19, a woman in my community was seeking engagement on our local Facebook Mom page. She had hosted an event last year, and this year a parade had been planned. When I read about the parade, I thought it sounded great. I never once thought about attending it. I didn’t think I would be welcome. I didn’t think it was for me.
Now, people are calling for Juneteenth to be a national holiday. I think it should be. We should celebrate a time when our nation actually did something right. In fact, I wouldn’t mind if we scanned the entire calendar of National Holidays and revised it. Cut out the ones that inspire ill feelings from any portion of Americans, and designate a list of days to honor that would allot us some time to reflect on the honor of being American.
I know. I just typed “cut out the ones that inspire ill feelings from any portion of Americans.” Oy. That pretty much cuts out all holidays. Christmas comes to mind. Not everyone is Christian. For others, it’s too commercial. From one angle, Thanksgiving is icky. The traditional portrayal of the Native Americans in Thanksgiving lore is precious and feels disingenuous when you think about the reality of our Nation’s treatment of the Native Americans. Easter is rough. Is it about bunnies that lay Cadbury eggs or is it about the resurrection of Jesus Christ (or zombies)? Memorial Day is the beginning of summer, right? Veteran’s Day is when we honor Veterans, but people who hate war don’t want to celebrate the people that fight them.
Maybe we should just keep Independence Day? Maybe all Americans could agree on that one?
It’s all just one ball of confusion.
Is anyone else as disturbed as I am that this song is 50 years old and accurately describes our current day?
So, yes, if anyone asks me, Juneteenth should be a National holiday.
And my hope is that my backyard can be an example.
On Friday, because I follow social media and the news, I was acutely aware that it was Juneteenth. We had a friend over for dinner in the back yard. She is our next door neighbor from the last apartment we had in Chicago before moving to the northern ‘burb. She lives alone. We have often had her over for dinner, but since the Corona Virus, we have made an effort to invite her to our yard for a social distance barbecue about once a week. She is white and Jewish. She is also gay and very liberal identifying. She is also made up of so many other wonderful and amazing things. I only bring up these identifiers for the sake of making a point. My husband is straight, white, conservative identifying. The two of them have the longest and best arguments, rarely agree, but have a deep affection for each other that transcends the constant need they have to prove each other wrong. What it comes down to is a willingness to meet someone who is different with good will in your heart.
Over dinner, we had an uncomfortable conversation about Juneteenth and race. I’m opting not to script that out for you because that really wouldn’t be a fair portrayal or the viewpoints of the players involved. My stance in the discussion is that it doesn’t matter what political flames are being fueled this close to an election or whether it’s only being brought up because it’s an election year. A segment of our human race is at a disadvantage because there are still people that place value judgement on the color of their skin. It got heated between the three of us.
I began to feel embarrassed because our neighbors were in their adjacent backyard, and I worried that a morsel of our conversation might be overheard out of context. My neighbors are wonderful. Their family is a good parallel to ours. Husband, wife, and child. They have a six year old daughter. We have a 5 year old son. They are Black. We are white. We’ve gotten along wonderfully since day one.
In our yard, we cool the conversation on race and change the topic. Night falls and the kids begin collecting fireflies in our respective yards (because social distancing, ya know?) Our sequestered dinners melt into a communal party as they seem to do every night in the summer. We have a laugh at how I realize that I can’t catch fireflies now without reading glasses. I see them light up in the distance, but when I get close enough to catch them, they get blurry and I miss.
Tonight, because it’s Juneteenth, I’m having an internal conversation with myself. I can’t believe that anyone, anywhere, would ever think that my friends next door are of lesser anything because of their skin color. We laugh at each other’s jokes, we help each other out in a pinch. We’ve left our kid at the other’s house when we needed it. We share tools. Our backyards are openly connected and before the pandemic, the two kids were welcome to run amok in either house.
In the dark, one of the neighbors crossed over into our yard and hands my husband something. It’s a bunch of sparklers for my son. For the rest of our evening, my son and their daughter giggle and spell things in the night sky. Across the street another set of neighbors is lighting of Fireworks. They were a little too sparkly to be legal, and they are gorgeous.
It was simple. It was beautiful. It was a magical, fun and peaceful evening during a very trying time.
I still have a lot to learn. There is still a lot about the racial unrest that I don’t understand and struggle with, but here is what I know:
It’s not my place to asses the value of anyone, but I will always extend kindness at any first contact and foster any relationship that sees the value the kindness I have to offer.
It would be great if we could all humble ourselves and begin again from a place of kindness, curiosity, and vulnerability.
Lisa Moves 