Tag: Martin Luther King

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HOW LONG CAN YOU HOLD A GRUDGE?

Last year’s shooting of the newspaper staff in Annapolis got me thinking about the downside of  holding a grudge.  I doubt if there’s anyone in the world who doesn’t feel some resentment  over a long ago insult or perceived wrong.  How long can you hold a grudge?

 
I held a secret grudge for many years against a young man whom I overheard jeering, and saying I was “crazy” at a teenage party. This was right  after my older sister had a mental breakdown that required hospitalization.  His words were like a razor across my heart. There was a huge stigma surrounding mental illness in those days (still is). His taunts reinforced the assumption that I was “tarred with the same brush” as my sister, as the saying goes. Thank God there was no Facebook, or I might have been bullied into suicide.  Soon after, I went away to college and started a new life in Chicago upon graduation.

Fast forward: twenty years later.  I’m back in my hometown with a new job, and I’m seeing this guy at public events and social gatherings more often than I would like.  At first, I managed to avoid him.  But then I would see him again, and the knot in my stomach told me I was still holding a grudge for that long ago incident. It was not pleasant; I hadn’t felt that way for a long time, so I took another look at this man, and realized he wasn’t really a monster, just an ordinary guy fighting serious health problems and a failing business. He had probably forgotten making  such cruel remarks, and  hopefully, he had matured enough that he would not do it again.

Then I remembered the words of Martin Luther King, Jr.  “Hate is too great a burden to bear, so I chose love.” I won’t say I began to love my former detractor, but carrying a grudge was too great a burden for me to bear, so I let it go.

The scary thing about grudges is that they become a self defeating obsession. https://medium.com/productivity-revolution/6-reasons-why-holding-grudges-makes-you-unhappy-7e2198de26fe In the case of the Annapolis shooter, he  preferred killing 5 people and living the rest of his life in prison, to letting go of that grudge.

 

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JIM CROW LAWS & SEGREGATED BATHROOMS

On the anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr’s assassination, I thought back to the time I first saw a segregated bathroom. I came of age in the State of Indiana, moved to Chicago, and had no idea there was such a thing.

While growing up on the wrong side of  town, most of my neighbors didn’t go anywhere special for summer vacations. State parks, maybe.  Later, in college, I knew lots of kids who could afford to go to Florida for spring break, but not one of them ever reported having to watch where they went to pee. I had never traveled south to Florida until I was married at age twenty four.

In 1960, my then husband decided to return to college for a degree from the University of Miami.   After about a month of staying with in-laws, we rented a small apartment near the University.  I didn’t know a soul, was bored to death, and worried about money.  Two blocks away was a Sears Department Store.  I knew my college degree wouldn’t  mean much to them, but I had worked my way through school as a secretary, so figured that might qualify me for a job in the office at Sears.

I put on my best dress, a pair of high heels, walked in 90 degree heat to the store, and asked for directions to the Personnel  Office. (They didn’t call it Human Resources then.)  After climbing the stairs to the second floor, I thought I’d better stop in the restroom to wipe the sweat off my face and comb my hair.  I asked someone where the Ladies Room was, and a bored clerk pointed her finger.  Without paying much attention, I entered the restroom, surprised that it was dingy and smelly.

After I’d checked my appearance, I walked back into the store, and noticed all the white salespeople staring at me.  I wondered if I was trailing toilet paper. Alarmed,  I turned around, and realized  that I had made what appeared to be a serious mistake. A large sign said LADIES ROOM. I hadn’t noticed the two smaller signs underneath, above two doors. One restroom was for COLORED,  and the other WHITE.  I had gone in the wrong door!

I was so shocked that when I finally sat down for an interview, I was shaking. Needless to say, I didn’t get the job.  I suppose I was rejected for one of two reasons:  they thought I was either a nervous wreck or colored. Maybe both.