Dispatches from the DOWN HOME DIVAS

 

#16 - A Parable On Courage

Berea College Pinnacle, March 28, 2013

The Down Home Divas sit before the laptop once again, under the dim, blinking lights of a smelly common room and an afghan crocheted by the loving hands of our kinpeople.  It’s been a good while since we came before Her throne to speak our truth in a Dispatch.  That would be because our lives are in shambles, but WHAT IS NEW?  How do we recover from the Monday Meanness?  The cure comes in twos – two sisters, two passion fruit face masks, and two cups of strong coffee.  At this first of the week, hard times have made the Divas as inseparable as Mary and Kay, united as Shiprah and Puah (see Exodus 1:15; t-shirts coming soon), stuck together like ugly talk and the beauty parlor. 

We press our chalky fingers to the keyboard to write of Courage, that benevolent force that pulls our wings from the mud puddles and rekindles the flame inside.  Let’s begin with a little dab of storytelling.  This chronicle comes from the true life experience of Sister Sam, from a weekend spent with his mama D-Bird (known far and wide as the Wythe County Wild Woman).  It came to pass that Sam’s little cousin Baby Ashlee needed watched over for a day or two while her mama traveled over yonder to Tennessee to earn some spending money singing in the bars.  When the trip lasted a day or two longer than expected, D-Bird loaded up Baby Ashlee in the PT Cruiser and drove up to the family trailer to get her some clean clothes.  Lo and behold (and this is ever’ word the truth) when they got out of the vehicle, there stood a cousin of ours (who shall remain nameless) that lives up the hill, drunker than Cooter Brown, reeling and about to fall down on the red clay driveway.   He was talking as he is liable to do when he gets in such a way, ranting on about how this minority or that minority will prove to be the ruination of the world.  All the while, D-Bird fumed and patted her foot on the ground as Sam chewed his nails to the quick.  And then . . . it happened.  Oh-no-he-didn’t.  He said “faggot.”  

D-Bird then reached The Point.  You know The Point – when the football players in the back of her English class brag about their exploits, when someone drinks all the juice for little brother which she just bought at the Dollar General, when professional development seminars have stolen one too many Saturdays.  There is a level – and you should nightly pray that you don’t get on it – when Tolerance flees to the hills and Courage takes Her place.  When he dropped the f-bomb children, D-Bird shot up to that level.  In a second’s time, the Bird proceeded to rare back and whomp him upside the head with all her might.  Oh, and did we mention that he had A GUN IN HIS HAND, ‘cause that is the truth!  If the nasty word had been directed at Sister Sam, she’d have had his ass on a platter right then and there.  But, as usual, D-Bird kept calm and didn’t even respond with words.  When Ashlee came back down the hill with her overnight bag, D-Bird took the driver’s seat, blared the horn and put ‘er in the road.  After about ten tense minutes in the vehicle, Sam asked what exactly had just happened and D-Bird replied with a sigh and said, “That just wasn’t nice.”

What exactly had come over this collected Diva and led her to such a brash display?  It was Courage.  Unbeknownst to her, when the Bird backhanded that sorry-ass, she took a stand for queers and their mamas the world over.  Her strike was not one of violence, but of Love.  Had it not been so, Courage would not have led her there.  We should all take after her and nip haters in the bud each and every day, whether we’re at gunpoint, grade-point or The Point.  Don't be mean, though; be sweet to people.  Be firm.  Stand your ground and don't let them talk bad about your people.  You can talk it over later when everybody calms down.

That is why we are all gathered together in this place, to learn how to not be boring and to uproot injustice one small act at a time.  D-Bird’s demonstration and everyday, garden-variety American problems are really not so different – the first is simply easier to see.  This is the true aspiration of the Down Home Diva, to call on Courage and make strides toward a better day.   When we get our diplomas and cross the storm-beaten waters of Troublesome, harmonious strains shall pour from the heavens, accompanied by the popping of corks.  Thanks to Courage, no earthly trial is our master.  Berea College’s fog of despair will be as nothing to our newfound eyes.  Pity the fool who gets between us and the shade of the Tree of Life.  To quote Civil Rights Diva Ella Baker, “we who believe in freedom cannot rest until it comes.”