What happened to the America of my childhood?
I was watching the local Houston news tonight (to catch the weather) and there were reports of random shootings, a party that got out of hand at an AirBNB where shots ripped through a neighbor’s house, narrowly missing them sitting inside, a couple of murders and a report of a Houston police chief retiring suddenly after questions were raised about more than 260,000 suspended investigations.
I thought about what it must be like to be a kid today, growing up in the middle of something like this – and if you scan the papers and the internet, crime is everywhere. I saw where a meth lab was busted in a small town in my home state of Mississippi.
Then I started thinking about how different these reports were as compared to what I experienced as a child, and I asked myself:
Where are all the good people?
When I grew up, they were all around me.
And not just my immediate and extended family, there were people not related to me who were friends, surrogate parents (as kids we did not misbehave in front of any adult who knew our parents), mentors, and just friends.
We said “sir” and “ma’am” a lot. It was a sign of respect and that we knew our places.
We shared a lot of things – we helped each other with big tasks, banded together for church and civic causes, saw each other at church services every Sunday and Sunday night and bible study on Wednesday nights. A bus picked us up from school and dropped us off at church for children’s choir practice before bible study. We celebrated together, shared dinners together and generally incorporated each other into our daily lives – but with boundaries. Concern was one thing, interference was another.
God, family, and country first, church second, community next.
I grew up in the deep South, but I cannot remember any use of the word “nigger” by any of the adults with whom we interacted. Sure, the Confederate battle flag was around but was never talked about in racial terms. It was a war flag and an emblem of Dixie (and the Ole Miss Rebels). Did we learn about slavery in school? Yes. Did we learn about the horror of the Civil War? Yes – my hometown was burned to the ground by Union troops. We learned when and why our county was named “Union” after the Civil War.
Yet we were always Americans. The President’s birthdays were holidays, we held parades on Memorial Day, July Fourth, the Boy Scouts raised the flag on Veterans Day, and even students pulled flag duty at our schools. We had special services at church on Christmas and sunrise services on Easter.
Something interesting, even when I became an adult (before and after my wife and I were married, I lived in my home community until I was twenty-nine years old), I never knew who was a Republican or a Democrat or for whom anyone voted. I do not remember any yard signs, candidate posters or flags – other than the American flag.
I can remember when candidates would come and speak at events – church socials, county fairs, Rotary Club meetings - and people, whom I assume came from different political beliefs, would sit and respectfully listen to all candidates speak, those from political parties and those who were from none, and when the talk was over, everybody politely clapping for all of them. The candidates would shake hands with everyone and ask for their vote and when it was over, it was over. People left to their homes with their opinions and choices a secret. Only if you asked, would they tell you – and sometimes not even if you asked would they talk. The generation of my parents took the secret ballot seriously.
And after the elections were over, and the winner announced, everybody saddled up and went back to their lives the next day.
Politics was a part of our lives, not insignificant, but still an exceedingly small part.
Jackson was a long way from our farm out in the wilds of Union County, so we never thought that much about state government, just the standard upset when the legislature raised taxes. Our county government was there to protect us from the state and the state government protected us from the federal government.
Kids of my generation were free to be kids. We had responsibilities at home and chores to do, sure, but we did not have to contend with all the pressures, threats, and distractions of today. We did not get picked before we were ripe – thanks to the good people who surrounded and protected us.
So, I ask again, where are the good people