Twelve years ago...

Twelve years ago I answered a call for essays from my local public radio station. Spalding University's writing program and WFPL were holding a contest over the course of several weeks. Each week a new topic was announced and listeners were asked to submit short essays. Each week five were chosen to be read and aired during morning drive time, you know in between Bob Edwards and the other NPR segments.

I wrote and wrote my self into circles. I edited. I shared with three good friends - Karen, Kempton, and Kristin (notice a trend K-----n?) They read. They offered insightful editorial comments and I went back to the drawing board and submitted my piece.

It was a thrill to get the call to schedule a time to record my essay. It was aired the Tuesday before the Kentucky Derby in 2002.

Every year I pull out this essay and read it to Kristin before we dive into our day. It is one of the things that brought us together, brings us together. If you care to read it, do so slowly, aloud if at all possible. It was written to be spoken.

How this local celebrates Derby

“What are you doing for Derby?”  you ask.  I miss a breath, feel my eyes moving back and forth. Why is this person asking me about a hat?  Oh, I live in Louisville now, and I’ve just been presented April’s most frequently asked question.

Eight years here and I finally get it.  Derby is a religious holiday and I’m about to commit sacrilege.    I’m totally not into horses. Gambling and drunkenness disgust me.  Derby is NOT something I plan my life around.

Last Derby there wasn’t a hole in the Pentagon or the New York skyline.  Last Derby education was a priority. This Derby the focus is a fantasy called Homeland Security. 

So rather than snapping back my own verbal terrorism, I think about your question and long for a celebration with substance. I long for a celebration of life, peace and hope - not a 2 minute horse race.  I dream.  Sit with me and fill the longing I have for more than a party. Erase my need for more stuff.  Confront me gently when I’m full of IT or myself.  Stop trying to numb me with mint juleps.

Come sit with me. Let’s huddle around a baby not a TV on a beautiful spring afternoon.  And when you’ve just spent more on a hat than I make in a month don’t tell me there’s no money to feed the hungry and house the homeless.

Read to me, that stuff which makes your heart sing, not the Racing Form.  Tell me what you know… not what you think or’ve been taught… but what you know without knowing how it is you know it.  I’m tired of hearing re-hashed headlines about the favorites.

I want to feel my pulse and your breath as you share something dear, not another whine about the liquor bill for your party.  Let’s collaborate not compete.  Let’s find out what we have in common instead of letting that first obvious difference set us apart.  If we can’t share wonder, love and joy… what else matters?

Listen not to me.  Listen to yourself,  and when your music comes on my bones rattle, then hum.   And Marvin Gaye reaches in and grabs my vocal chords – Make me wanna holler, throw up both my hands.      I let out a silent, longing wail -- for mother, for self, for home.

I finally get back to your question. What am I doing for Derby? I am stone. Turn me into soup.    

WFPL 89.3  Tuesday, April 30, 2002 - 6:35 & 8:35am