Busy Weekend...

 

This weekend has been so busy that it’s been a bit of blur. On Thursday evening Julie arrived in Memphis. We (eventually… after much searching) found a great place to eat— Stix in Collierville— and then stopped by Joe’s house for dessert (he was nice enough to make us brownie sundaes, which were delicious).

 

 

On Friday, I took Julie on a tour of campus and the Square (and an unsuccessful and abandoned attempt to find Rowan Oak— after getting caught in quite the rainstorm, we gave up). That night we saw WALL-E (which was surprisingly political).

 

 

 

On Saturday, we took a trip to the Delta (specifically Greenwood, Indianola, and Money). I felt prepared for it (but no less outraged) because we’ve been talking all along about the conditions there. I can only imagine my reaction if we had visited during my first couple of days in Mississippi. I knew that there was extreme poverty, although seeing it firsthand makes it that much more real. I felt like I was visiting some area recently touched by a natural disaster, an area that simply hadn’t had the chance to clean up yet. To think that these homes aren’t some work in progress, recovering from some horrible incident, but instead this is just they way they are… I guess it’s the sense of stagnation that hit me. I can’t imagine what it’s like to live in these houses, to see kids grow up and never get out, to live in the same rundown, unsanitary conditions for years upon years. That’s not to say that there’s not hope for these kids or for the town of Greenwood (I have to believe that there is, and I think MTC has to believe that there is— or what are we doing here?), but it’s such an established cycle that when even one child escapes it, it’s extraordinary.

 

 

Then on Sunday, we went back to Memphis (after a stop in Holly Springs). Before Julie left, we had a chance to visit the National Civil Rights Museum. Wow. I feel like it’s something to be experienced, that words don’t do it justice. To see people of all races walking through the exhibits, looking at the pictures, reading the stories, really bearing witness to what happened— it helped to affirm for me that remembering is a vital part of being able to move on, that only when we preserve and honor the reality of what happened and those who worked to change it can we identify and deal with the problems (and there are many) that continue to plague us as a nation.