WHAT’S IN A NAME?

For a long time I’ve been disturbed about the made-up names given by extremely young Afro-Americans for their children. When you see such a name in print you immediately know it belongs to a black person

My feeling is if you want your child to have the good life, a parent should be concerned that anyone seeing their written application or resume will immediately have a prejudice knowing the applicant is of color.

Why am I writing this? An article in our local newspaper told the story of a 13-year-old boy shooting a 15-year-old boy. The shooter, who in custody is named Le’Genius Wisdom Williams. No picture is really necessary.

Maybe with good parental guidance, he might have lived up to his name and changed it when he became of age.

A RARE COMPLIMENT

Last month when I was playing bridge at our club house, an old friend came into the room to say hello. She hugged me, then looked at me and said “You really look pretty”. I laughed and told her that I had invested in some new make-up, which was the reason I looked good.

I came home elated because I don’t get that many compliments. I later wore my make-up to several family events, but no one said anything.

So, I was really surprised two days ago when a bridge player said that I really looked nice. I laughed and explained to her about my make-up.

I have always worn a small amount of make-up and only used the full amount when acting. I guess I’ll start wearing more, if it means people would really look at me.

 

I’M NOT ON MY KNEES BECAUSE I CAN’T GET UP

Today I polished the furniture and swept the floors getting ready for a visit with a daughter and her family. As I rested in my chair between chores, I remembered doing all those things every week for more than fifty odd years and not getting especially tired. It was my job to clean, cook and take care of the children

I have found in the last five years that I no longer want to do any of those things. I don’t cook as much, clean as much, scrub floors but I still have a lot of laundry to do. Ironing is an intermittent thing

While sitting in my chair, I remembered my grandmother who was always scrubbing floors on her knees and then thought of my great-grandmother. Grandma and Grandpa Short had fourteen children and lived on their farm until they were probably in their 80’s. The farm was sold and they bought a two-story home in town.

My brothers and I hated to go there. We always seemed to visit around seven in the evening, just in time for their daily rosary. It was necessary to kneel on the living room floor which was covered with linoleum and the rosary was very long. It’s possible that they never had carpeting anywhere, but I don’t remember any other part of that two-story house. Years after the great-grandparents were gone, we’d drive down the street and I’d point out the house which was near the Russian Orthodox Catholic Church.  I’m really glad I remember my great-grandparents and even how religious they were. My great-grandfather died shortly after they bought the house, I honestly can’t picture him too well, probably because he didn’t have much to say. I remember he stood very erect and she was very stern. We kids didn’t really like her.

Now we have a great-granddaughter who probably won’t have any memories of us, but we do have nine grand’s that can fill her in on the good things. Nothing bad please.

WHERE’S GEORGE?

On last night's news I heard George Zimmerman was stopped for speeding in Texas and in his car’s glove compartment was a gun. Some people were surprised that he had one, not realizing the gun was probably returned to him after he was found not guilty of killing Trayvon Martin.

The policeman didn’t give him a ticket.