The New York Times did an article on my brother Stephen who has Autism and me. Please click the link and take time to read this eye opening article of our lives. My hope is that this revealing article will not only change our lives but the lives of other people who have developmentally disabled siblings. Please share this post with your networks. Thank you.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Whoa!.”
See the Below link for the entire story. I work for a museum.
Then a few days ago when I was posted in the Civil War Photography exhibit at my museum, once more an ancestor’s thoughts and emotions came to me. My Great, Great Grandfather William Henry Halstead fought in the Civil War. There was a steady stream of visitors but everyone was quiet, calm, serious, deeply affected by what they were seeing. During the course of the day as I walked through the photographs taking everything in it was like I began to see through the eyes of my Great, Great Grandfather. I could hear the sounds of battle, the screams of pain from injured soldiers, feel his adrenaline as he surged forth with his 29th CT. Colored Regiment brothers. All I can say it was like I was in his head. I had to make an effort to turn off so I could finish my day without freaking out. Even now I feel he is still with me even though I never met him. Maybe this is genetic memory. All the memories of our ancestors stay with us though we are separated by time but not necessarily by eternity………………
7 For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.
F.E.A.R ~~ False Evidence Appearing Real
We hide behind that Wall of Silence thinking if I’m just quiet enough I can slip under the radar. They won’t see me. I can hide and everything will be alright not knowing or not caring that Silence = Death.
We’ve become a society of trained apathetic circus clowns who when the powers that be say jump we ask how high. If we shuck and jive continually bowing down to the institution plantation head clowns. If we kiss their ass long enough perhaps we will be permitted the privilege of being allowed to slave another day.
Judith with the Head of Holofernes
Reduced to a mass of sniveling groveling cowards we’ve sold our birthrights for the few crumbs that drop from the Overseers table. We rant and rave against Ferguson, Staten Island and other atrocities but back away from the injustice in our own backyards. Completely ignoring all the weapons within reach, easily at our disposal. All we have to do is pick them up use them but instead we say it’s not happening to me so I’m safe. Safe for how long? Who guarantees that you’ll magically be released at the age of 62 or now 66? There are no outside saviors.
It’s you that will make a difference. Do you really think that by ignoring the cries of others that evil, harm, & wickedness won’t come your way? You’re living in a glass bubble. And why post scriptures of peace, love and redemption without acknowledging that even Jesus got angry and threw the money-changers out of the Temple. But No we mix idly among thieves, robbers, rapists, stalkers tethered to electronic mind numbing devices entranced by technological marvels ignoring the mud and filth accumulating on our clothes while building empires in the sand. Yes the brainwashing has been completed successfully and the new slave masters smile from on high. Disconnect. Disconnect. Disconnect.
Nzingha African Warrior Queen & Priestess
Interesting how some men feel that women should sit down, shut up and be quiet when it comes to abuse, bullying, stalking, threats and/or sexual harassment. If it happens to the woman personally or friends of her, she is cautioned to keep quiet because the attacker is of an alabaster hue and she resides in Ebony. Too late. Pillsbury Dough-boy meet the Nubian Ninja.
When I was a kid I heard some Black people say, “If you’re white you’re alright. If you’re Brown stick around. If you’re Black get back!”
That was then. This is now. Those days and that bullshit thinking is over.
#WomensLivesMatter
But any attempts to silence me will only cause me to cry out louder, talk more, yell, scream, fight and organize against injustice. Never tell a woman who has survived being battered, abused and harassed to hold her peace. I already bear the scars of war so what’s a few more? Yes there should be an expectation of safety in your home, at your workplace, house of worship and school. Not only will I stand up for myself but also for any woman who needs me and requires my assistance. Who taught me to be such a Sassafras? Edward G. Palmer. I am my Father’s Daughter. I am a Soldier. I am a Righteous Warrior of God. I am unafraid. Who took up the Sword in my defense? My Mother Mable Elizabeth Palmer. I am My Mother’s Daughter. Warrior Queen!
I have my Grandmother’s (Eva Palmer) music sewing box that plays “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.” The music box that my Dad brought home after my Grandmother’s funeral. The same music box passed down to me after my Dad died. Where it will go when I’m gone is known only to God since I never married nor had children.
My grandparents were married in 1919 until my grandfather William Palmer died around 1962 or 1963. My grandmother passed away around 1964 or 1965. I was very young so I don’t remember much about her but I Love her musical sewing box and wind up it every so often just to hear that lovely melody. In my mind’s eye I can still see the brownstone in Harlem where they lived. If I think very quietly and carefully I can envision all the rooms and marveling at my perception of largeness and space. Then it fades away to St. Albans, Queens and the house on 115th Road where I grew up. A house that shrank after my parents deaths. Too many memories crowding in on each other so I sold it in 2000.
My parents Edward & Mable Palmer were married for 40 years from 1955 to 1995 when my Dad passed away. My Mom went to join him in 1998.
Marriage was very serious to both my grandparents and parents. It was not a trial run or something to be thrown away or cast aside like we see now. Eva Gordon was my Grandfather’s second wife as his first wife had passed away. There was a big age gap between them as my Grandfather William Palmer was in or near his 40s and I would guess my Grandmother to be maybe 20 or 21 at the time of their marriage.
Music Sewing BoxGrandma Eva’s Music Sewing box
All of my grandmothers boy children died from polio except my Dad Edward Gordon Palmer. I can’t even begin to imagine giving birth yet not knowing whether or how long your children would live. I guess that’s why people had so many kids in the 1910s, 1920s & 1930s. There were so many diseases and no vaccines that it was a miracle if a child lived beyond toddlerhood.
Grandfather William Palmer with 4 of his children at Mt. Morris Park in 1926. My Dad is not in the photo because he was not born until 1930.
Fast forward to December 1955 when my parents Edward and Mable Palmer married. I was born first then my brother Stephen came along in May 1961. By 1963 Stephen was age two and had not spoken a word. Doctors back then labeled Stephen “emotionally disturbed” and advised my parents to put him away in an institution. My parents Did Not take the doctors advice but took their son back home, loved him, raised him and taught him as much as they could. For those of you who remember the horrors of Willowbrook you know why my parents could never do that to Stephen. Today Stephen works and has an active social life.
I say all this about my family history to point out that marriage is no Garden Party. You take the good and the bad the better and the worse and yes in sickness and in health. Love is not all the sappy romances we read about in books or see on TV or in the movies. Love is the real world. Real Life. Where there are no guarantees but many unseen rewards.
Mable & Edward Palmer
When I hear this melody as sung by The Mills Brothers I envision them all dancing in Heaven.
I recall Dayton, Ohio. The alleyways in back of vacant houses. Recall Ohio with the Heart of the Miami Valley. Dayton, Ohio ~ My mother’s hometown.
My Mom, Mable Elizabeth Palmer
Wright-Patterson Air-force Base where Mable met Edward, Freeing her from strutting Jim-Crow every day torments, misery, agony, murder. Daily degradation, Escape is imminent. Mable was Harlem bound.
Mable Elizabeth Palmer
Tornado swept clean. Where have the Ohio Players gone? Recall Ohio sitting on the porch with Grandma Hattie watching time stand still.
Recall Ohio as a firstborn from New York. I see Dayton, Ohio through the eyes of the Prodigal daughter who never returned.
Espiritu en Fuego/A Fiery Spirit 