Life as I know it is a mixture of chaos, noise, laughter – the kind that makes your guts hurt and brings tears to your eyes. Life as I know it is a constant search for understanding, knowledge and an answer to the question ‘what is the meaning of my life.’ Life as I know it is headaches, back-aches, stomach aches and snotty noses; hand-made macaroni-strung-on-yarn necklaces, crumpled cards with I love you scrawled across in the front in layers of glue and glitter. Life as I know it is constantly trying to make sense of the world around me, looking for the humor in even the most dismal of events and being thankful for the many blessings I am humbled to have. Life as I know it is filled with love in all shapes, sizes, varieties and colors, the soul warming comfort of friendship and endless supplies of chocolate. Life as I know it is a messy desk, sorted scraps of papers with phone numbers and doodles and to do lists; bookshelves overflowing with literary favorites, read and re-read, dime-store pocket novels that have thoroughly entertained me on a summer’s day and books I have scheduled to read when the opportunity arises.

Life as I know it began in Miami Beach, Florida and now unfolds in Easley, South Carolina. It has been a prolonged culture shock and adjustment. Life as I know it defines me – in my part of the world – as an Obama-supporting-socialist-liberal in a red sea of Über-conservative, sometimes fundamental Republicans. It finds me covering local government for the paper, listening to factions of tea baggers who sincerely believe that pedestrian walking and bicycling trails are, at their core, big-brother government conspiracies to rid the world of automobiles forcing individuals to use mass transit systems. Life as I know it has me sitting in these meetings wondering what Freud might say if he were sitting next to me in the press gallery.

Life as I know it involves a rather unorthodox family dynamic that most outsiders find bizarre. It is a severely OCD ex-husband who takes it upon himself to Al-gonize the girls’ DVDs – sorted by release dates, Disney studios and whatever other schemas seem rational and reasonable in his brain.     

Life as I know it is a work in progress, constant emotional and spiritual growing pains that make me a better human being, cups of strong, industrial-strength-elite-Kenyan-runner coffee that jump start my day with a familiar feeling of love nothing else can replicate. Life as I know it is plagued with guilt and not-good-enoughs and what-ifs? Life as I know it overflows with piles of laundry that never disappear no matter what my water bill might indicate, stress-inducing deadlines forever forcing me to race and beat time, and a big bumbling 180lb dog who insists that his slobbery kisses are all I need when I am sad. Life as I know it revolves around my two daughters whose creativity, humor and stubbornness are like looking into a mirror, daughters whose rapid growth scares the hell out of me at each turn because the responsibility for their well-rounded spiritual, physical and emotional development seems to rest squarely on my shoulders. Life as I know it is a series of marathon completed triumphs, never-giving up persistence and diligence, and throwing in the towel when I know I have been beat. I want life as I know it to be filled with unexpected kindness, modern day miracles and the triumph of love against even the most insurmountable of odds. I want life as I know it to be more organized, relaxed and assured. I want life as I know it to embrace all my mistakes instead of berating my failures, to be firm and steadfast in my faith such that I can let go of my control-freakish tendencies, to be able to enjoy the rides and focus less on the destinations.

Life as I know it has ups and it has downs and so much in-between that I wish I could package, sell it and use the money to pay off all my student loan debt. The bottom line, however, is this: life as I know it is pretty amazing and I wouldn’t trade mine for anyone else’s. I stopped making New Year’s resolutions quite a while ago because I finally realized that being both impatient and a perfectionist does not lend itself well to resolutions. With age, and, I would like to think, wisdom, I have truly begun to look at myself as a work in progress. Although I loathed the bureaucracy of my job in substance abuse counseling, I learned a great deal from the addicts going through the recovery process. Taking life one day at a time makes sense – especially when we believe that God will never give us more than we can handle in any given day. Relying on a Higher Power – be it God, Buddha, Trees or the Sun – is essential to maintaining ones sanity in a world that is so seemingly insane sometimes. Lives are a journey and we are only on this earth for a short period of time. Why not make the most of it?

There are things about myself that I would like to change – especially in relationship to the way I so harshly judge myself and the way I have a tendency to look at things from the negative before the positive. Thus, I am a work in progress. I can see measurable growth in these areas over the last year, and while I might not have achieved perfection, my success lies in the fact that I refuse to give up trying. On that note, in 2011 I will cheer even louder for the underdog, I will hope harder for the impossible, I will believe ever more strongly in the possibility of miracles. I will be kinder to myself. I will create more opportunities to tell the people I love just how much I love them. I will offer smiles to those in need. I will continue to strengthen my faith and develop a closer relationship to my Higher Power because I need this in my life. Faith, Hope and Love – these are the foundation upon which I will continue to build a stronger me this year. I hypothesize that a stronger, healthier me can only equal even better relationships with the people I love, a better mother to my amazing girls that I adore beyond words, a better writer, a better everything.

Whatever your hopes, dreams or resolutions for the New Year might be, work toward them one day at a time. Don’t get over-whelmed because Rome, as they say, was not built in a day. Be patient with yourself and others. And never, never, never give up. Happy New Year 2011.                                                                                                                      

My alarm clock is set to go off at 5:30 every morning – even on the weekends – and unless I am ill, I get up when the buzzer goes off. If, like me, you have small children, then you will understand I am not masochistic; getting up at the crack of dawn is the only time I will have what resembles peace and quiet for the rest of the day. As a younger adult (pre-children), I always thought it somewhat obscene that my Mom would get up so early in the morning when nothing in the world required her to do so. Now I understand completely and I relish my morning quiet.

Each morning I settle into my solace with a hot cup of Kenyan-elite-runner-strength coffee (and while I am neither Kenyan nor an elite runner, I know what the stuff tastes like … but that is another story for another column). When I am on my A-game, I will set my fancy-schmancy coffee pot the night before so that I wake up not only to a hot brewed pot of coffee deliciousness, but also to the rich aroma those amazing little beans exude. Once my coffee is fixed – for me it is the perfect harmony of cream and coffee – the color of liquid toffee – I savor that first sip and melt into it like a big fuzzy hug.

I listen. It is quiet. This is Nee-Cole time. Time to escape into thought without being questioned about my thoughts. Time to write without having to solve an argument mid-thought or find missing Kitty, Froggy-My or yesterday’s mail. The stillness is mine to enjoy, and enjoy it I do. Time to have conversations with God – out-loud, one-on-one – like he is sitting in the chair next to me. Sometimes it is my time to do absolutely nothing at all but slowly sip my coffee without feeling guilty for not being productive (that comes later in the day).

Now that it is winter, I like to take my coffee outside in the morning. When I step out on our side entrance, I have a view of the side of my neighbor’s house separated from us by our concrete carport and a row of sinewy Bradford Pear trees. There is something very calming about the pre-dawn darkness coupled with the winter chill I feel on my nose, hands and feet. Most mornings, if I am lucky, I catch a glimpse of the moon and a few radiant stars peeking at me through the barren branches of the pear trees. It occurred to me last week that I am playing peek-a-boo with the moon only because it is winter and all of the leaves have died and fallen from the Bradfords’ branches.

I know I have related this before, but here I go again: growing up in Miami, I did not experience a change of seasons. The tropical climate of southern Florida allowed the palm, mango and avocado trees to keep their foliage year round. This is why, eleven years later, I am still captivated by the change of seasons I feel blessed to experience each year. It is, in the true sense of the word, awesome.

With the exception of a few pines, the trees in my neighborhood are an exposed network of intricately woven limbs and branches reaching heaven ward awaiting their spring rebirth. At the risk of sounding macabre, there is a certain graceful beauty about winter death. The trees across my driveway provide a startling framework through which I am able to see the moon, the stars and the flaming hues of orange and pink as the sun rises each morning.

Seasonally speaking, winter has always been associated with death – both literally and metaphorically. In this context, it is understandable that many people suffer depression in the winter months when it is cold and there is more darkness than daylight. Death, however, is not a bad thing. Without death in the winter, we would not be able to witness and appreciate the glorious rebirth of spring – swollen buds preparing to burst forth with new life. Our lives operate in similar natural cycles. Careers, friendships, relationships – sometimes they metaphorically wither and grow dormant – slowly ebbing out of our lives, and for many of us, there is a time that we grieve these losses. Then when we least expect it, we find that we have grown into a new career, blossomed into a new friendship or cultivated a new relationship. As the saying goes, “when one door closes, another one opens.”

Life is an ever evolving process. Change truly is a good thing. Without winter, we wouldn’t appreciate spring. Without sorrow, happiness wouldn’t feel so spectacular! If you should find yourself in a time of winter – when things seem dreary or bleak – enjoy the glowing moon and stars that you can see so well only because there are not leaves obstructing the quiet view. Settle in to the serenity of the winter morning knowing that, in no time at all, the seasons are going to shift and spring is waiting just around the corner pregnant with possibilities all waiting to burst forth and blossom.

Last week my husband was out of town on business. In his absence, Em, Ella, Grandma and I were busy little elves transforming our home into a magical Christmas wonderland to surprise him upon his return. We set up a little tree in the kitchen, and Ella (my 5 year old) decided that it was our “love tree.”

Ella loves to draw. She scours my craft room for buttons and stickers, glue sticks and glitter, and she will spend hours creating pictures and cards for her school friends and us. When my husband goes out of town on business it is a guarantee that he will return to a handful of homemade delights – glittery rainbows, cute-as-a-button kitties or more abstract, Picasso inspired paintings.

I was hanging up some final decorations and Ella decided she was going to arrange her pictures and cards, hand crafted for her Daddy, beneath the love tree. After she had her gifts satisfactorily situated under the tree, she asked “Mommy, does love grow?”

Does love grow? It took me a minute to register the profundity of her question. Big brown eyes staring in my direction, Ella waited for an answer from me, and these days a simple ‘yes’ does not make the grade. Inevitably it would be followed by a ‘how’ and a ‘why’ until she was content with my answer. And so it goes that my “of course love grows” response was quickly followed by a “how?” from Ella. That kid doesn’t miss a beat!

Trying to explain relationship or romantic love was more than I was ready to tackle, so I started with a tree analogy. People, I began, plant trees because they love nature and they love the earth. God loves all living things, so he sends rain and sunshine to help the tree grow tall and sturdy with roots deep in the ground. Every year the tree grows a little bit bigger because God and the person who planted it care for and tend to it. All the love that goes into the tree makes it strong, and because the tree is so full of love, it has to give some away. The tree gives homes to birds and squirrels as a way of sharing the love it has received.

Christmas, I continued to explain, exists because of love. Many people, myself included, believe that God loved us so much that he gave us Jesus, who was born on Christmas. That is the real reason we celebrate at this time of year.

Ella appeared to be contemplating my answer and I thought this was a good sign. I went back to hanging up glittery snowmen. “Mommy,” she asks, “what about people? Does love grow in people too?”

My response went something like this --- When you and your sister were in my tummy, I was so excited that you were coming. I loved you and Em before I could even see you. On the days you were born, when I finally got to hold you and snuggle you and kiss you, my heart was so full of love that I thought it would explode (not really, Ella!). I loved you more that I thought was possible. Every day I love you and your sister more than I did the day before. The more you two grow and change, the greater my love grows.

“Even when we’re bad and we get in trouble?” she asks.

“Yes. Even when you are bad and get into trouble,” I reply. “There is nothing you or Em could ever do that would make me not love you.” With that she said, “I love you Mommy. I’m going to go play Barbie.” Up the stairs she went.

I stood in the same spot and continued to ponder Ella’s question. Love grows – of this I am certain. Love also changes shape and form. It takes on so many different forms – taking one from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows. Love can be given away freely, and it can also be consumed to the point of depletion. It has the power to renew and transform. Love is truly amazing, and I imagine that while everyone has a different experience with love, we are simultaneously all connected by the experience of love itself. Like “if,” L-O-V-E is a little word into which an abundance of meaning is packaged. When it grows and thrives, love is a truly awesome thing.  

Here’s to a Christmas season abundant with love that grows deeper and stronger with each passing day!

I am a reality TV junkie. As cliché a show as it might be by now, The Biggest Loser tops the list as my all time favorite. Each week I find inspiration in the achievements and transformations of the individual contestants, and it doesn’t hurt that I adore Bob Harper. Bravo also airs several other ‘reality’ based shows that I routinely follow: Millionaire Matchmaker, The Real Housewives of Atlanta, New York and New Jersey (I’ve never gotten into any of the California based series). Mindless entertainment is all that I want and usually what I get when I watch any number of these shows.

While I am somewhat ashamed to admit it, the most recent reality wonder that has sparked my interest is MTV’s 16 and Pregnant. Let me explain. I occasionally check out MTV to keep my finger on the pulse of adolescent pop-culture. Em and Ella are nowhere near old enough to watch MTV; however, as a parent I want to keep current so that I know what else is “out there” that might be contrary to the values I instill in my children. It was during one of my quests for MTV enlightenment that I stumbled across the show 16 and Pregnant and I was immediately horrified that any network would promote teenage pregnancy.

Watching the show was like approaching the scene of a horrible automobile accident. I found that I could not look away. The longer I watched, the more incensed I became – yet I found myself thinking that the show, in and of itself, offers an excellent argument for abstinence or birth control. About every other commercial break, a PSA announces “it takes two people to get pregnant but only one person to prevent it.” Rather than championing the “coolness” of teenage pregnancy, 16 and Pregnant actually preaches prevention. If teens actually follow this show on MTV, why is teenage pregnancy rampant in our age of enlightenment and medical advancement?

Teenagers are, you guessed it, teenagers! Think back to the days when you were in your teens? I can well remember thinking that I knew it all – that after a mere 16, 17, 18 years on the planet I had life figured out and somehow my poor mother was clueless. This is the way teens think. In their hormonally haywired minds, the consequences that result from any given behavior are going to be different for each of them: The ‘real life’ teens on the show that get pregnant and give birth, that subsequently struggle to complete their educations or support themselves financially – the average teen thinks “that isn’t going to happen to me.”

Having a baby is serious business! When I had my children, my life as I knew it ended. Certainly it ended in the most amazing of ways because I was ready and wanted to have children. I had completed my education, had a full-time job and the benefits that go with it. I had a home I could afford and I had a husband. In spite of this, no one could possibly prepare me for the amount of responsibility that comes with having children. Children are wonderfully expensive. Babies are completely dependent little beings who require someone to take care of all their needs, which, at first, they can only commutate through crying and screaming.

Parenting requires a certain level of absolute selflessness, and teenagers are the definition of self-absorption. 16 and Pregnant accurately documents the difficulties associated with being a teen parent. It should send an eye-opening and alarming message to sexually active teens. I know it scares the heck out of me as a parent. As a mom, it makes me think about what I don’t want for either or my daughters. Within reason, I want them to enjoy their youth because life goes by so quickly. One day I was in college and in no time at all I had a ‘real’ job and ‘real’ bills that required payment. I cannot fathom how difficult it must be, as a teenager, to make the transition from care-free adolescent to responsible parent in nine months time. That is a lot of growing up to do. Sadly, even though they have babies, many teen parents do not possess the maturity or level of responsibility this job entails thus the cycle perpetuates itself.

If you are a parent and you’ve never seen this show, I highly recommend it. Not only does it offer food for thought, it can also be a great starting point for a conversation with your teenager. While this might not be a solution for the problem of teenage pregnancy, it might be a small step in the right direction.

Half-Full

Half-Full. I’m Positive!

I love books, literature, stories and words. Jesus used parables to teach people about morality and virtue; literature is no different. Because I have always been passionate about reading and because I believe there is so much to be gained from immersion in books, I have tried to help my daughters cultivate a love for books.

Over the last few weeks we have been reading The Secret Garden before bedtime.  There are large portions of the novel that I have forgotten since the first time I read it. Reading it as an adult, capable of more analytical thinking, has made a beautiful story all the more amazing because of the virtues espoused on every page. It is ironic how changes I have been attempting in my own life coincide perfectly with the blossoming of the characters and the garden in this magical story.

I have been known to get into some major funks and about 99.9% of the time, they were all of my own creation. Yes, I’ve had some circumstantial stuff – beyond my control – that has contributed to me feeling blue, but those things were exacerbated by my pessimism.

About a month ago, during one of my bouts of melancholy, a very dear friend of mine pointed out the fact that I wasted a great deal of time and energy being negative. Me, negative? I always used to think of myself not as a pessimist, but as a realist. Those words, however, struck me with such force that I had an epiphany and knew it was time to make some changes in my thinking and my life.

After years of listening to my well-intentioned mother, badgering me to read The Power of Positive Thinking, I finally picked up the dusty paperback and read it. The funny thing is, as much as I adore books and believe in their ability to impact personal and social change, I did not believe that this particular book was going to change my life and I could not have been more mistaken.

Reading The Secret Garden with my girls is further driving the point home. If you’ve never read either of these books, I highly recommend the read – especially if you have a tendency toward negative thinking. The human mind is like a garden. It must be cared for and tended to or it will wither or be overrun with weeds. “Two things cannot be in one place. Where you tend a rose, a thistle cannot grow.”

I cannot begin to explain how amazing I feel as a result of simply making an effort to change the way I think. I used to tell people that being me was exhausting – and it was! I’ve also always said that I am a work in progress, and for the first time in a long time I can honestly say that I am enjoying the new ways I have decided to shape and mold my life. My friend, I cannot thank you enough for your candor.

Roses or thistles? The choice is yours. Pour yourself a half-full glass of optimism. It is positively refreshing!

Thanksgiving was always a very traditional celebration in my home when I was growing up. I have family in Colorado and Montana, but my immediate family was small and consisted of my Mom, my grandparents and me – an only child. We prepared and ate the same menu each year with no deviation whatsoever. And while I have fond memories of these childhood holiday celebrations, I can remember watching movies that depicted large families, abundant with dysfunction, noise and chaos and thinking how much fun it would be to be part of that kind of celebration.

The nice part about being an adult has been being able to start my own traditions during the holidays, and Thanksgiving is one I most look forward to for a variety of reasons.

I love to cook and bake. My grandmother and mother were and are amazing culinary wizards and I was always welcomed as an apprentice in their kitchens. I used to love making the pumpkin pie with my grandma each year. Even now I can remember standing on a stool next to her, learning how to crack eggs without getting shells into the mix and the feel of the black handled spoon I used each year to stir the pie ingredients. I haven’t made a pie with my grandma in the many years since her death, but having my little girls, standing on stools beside me in the kitchen as we measure out brown sugar and spices, crack eggs, and stir the pumpkin pie mixture, I know my grandma would be proud of the legacy she left behind.

Days before Thanksgiving, my mom and I will sit down to discuss our menu for the day. We still have most of the traditional items on the menu – the ones I remember from my childhood – but each year we add something new or prepare an old standard using a new recipe. Being in the kitchen with my mom is something I have always enjoyed, and each year I am grateful for the time I have with her – the time my girls have with their grandma making memories they, like me, will savor for years to come.

Thanksgiving is no longer a small, quiet celebration in my home – a new tradition that began while I was in graduate school. At the time I had many friends who, like me, were not native to South Carolina. It wasn’t possible for us to afford flights home for Thanksgiving and Christmas, so we decided to spend Thanksgiving together. For the last decade I have had upwards of 20 people in my home for a Thanksgiving feast. These friends are all people I consider family, so the day feels complete in a house full of people sans the drama and dysfunction that often exists within the “traditional” family unit.

As much as I enjoy all the festivities of the holidays, there is always a bitter-sweetness about them as well. While I have so many blessings in my life – family, friends, possessions for which I am thankful – I am all the more aware of people who have very little. I will pack up leftovers to send home with my guests and still have enough leftovers to feed my family, but somewhere not far from where I live, there are hungry children and parents who feel helpless. While I am surrounded by laughter and love, I know at the same time there is someone feeling sad and alone. As I am warm in a heated home, another fights against the cold.

Feeling guilty about my blessings, an all too familiar one for me, accomplishes nothing. Thanksgiving, I have learned, is about being thankful for what I have and giving to back to those in need. My family has struggled in this economy along with everyone else, but I give where and when I can. I continue to teach my children the importance of caring for others and stress that there are opportunities for doing so more than once per year. Thanksgiving is more than an annual November holiday – it is a feeling that can be carried around and acted upon on a daily basis.  Here’s wishing you all a Happy Thanksgiving – an amazing time for celebration – for family and friends – for giving thanks and giving back.

Where should I be?

I spent the last two hours at United Christian Ministries - a non-profit organization in Pickens County that offers emergency assiatnce to people in need. They have a huge food pantry, which is one of their primary ministries. They also help with clothing needs, financial needs (utility bills, heat, etc.). Being there really made me miss my job at Safe Harbor.

It seems like I have had many jobs in my short professional career, but being a counselor at SH was, by far, my favorite. I loved knowing that everyday I went to work I had an opportunity to help someone who needed help. I love the clients I worked with - the ones who really needed help and wanted to change their lives - the ones who were crazy as hell - the ones who knew how to work the system and get whatever they could get my any means necessary. I worked with people from all walks of life - many of whom had had really shitty lives and will probably struggle with life for the rest of their lives - unless they make some major changes.

Being at UCM reminded me of how much I enjoyed being on "the front lines" - really working with - talking with - spending time with people who sometimes just needed someone to care about them. I certainly don't think I was the end-all-be-all to their lives, but my care was genuine, as was my desire to help, and I think the women I served knew this about me - knew that my care was real and that I was not just there because it was a job.

Now, I am in a completely different environment. I am writing for the paper, which I also love. For as long as I can remember

Here I go...

OK. So I suppose this is my first official blog. I have to start somewhere, and while I like the idea of blogging, I find it odd that I would be writing in such a public forum. But that is the idea right? I am writing out my thoughts and feelings for other people to read. I feel like I should have something incredibly profound to say, but I'm afraid I don't. Maybe this will come in time - when I get used to the concept of blogging.


I have decided to give up eating meat. Years ago - probably when I was in high school and at some point in college, I gave up eating meat for the simple reason that it was difficult for me to eat something that had a face. Eventually, my craving for a hamburger overwhelmed my idealistic determination to be kind to animals.


Brian went on his annual deer hunting trip on Friday. I absolutely detest that he goes hunting - even if it is only once a year. The idea of him sitting up in some tree, waiting for an unsuspecting deer (why would it be suspicious - it doesn't have any natural predators) to wander by so he can shoot and kill it really pisses me off. It seems so inhumane and callous. So, when he announces he is going hunting, I hope against hope that he doesn't see a single deer - let alone shoot one. And I find some consolation in the fact that he has to get up at 4am to go sit in the cold for hours only to return home empty handed.


Each year, as he prepares for this testosterone driven "adventure", I become irritated at what seems like a huge waste of time. I have to give him this credit: he isn't killing a deer so he can have the head stuffed and mounted on the wall. I would make him move into his own apartment before I allowed him to hang a deer head on one of our walls. He at least hunts for the deer with the sole purpose of consuming the meat. Regardless, I loathe the idea of hunting.


This year he pointed out that his hunting for a deer to eat the meat is no different than me going to Publix to pick up bloody hunks of raw meat to make beef stew (one of my favorite meals this time of year). And the more I thought about it, the more he seems right. I haven't slaughtered the cows or the chickens I have eaten over the years, but I imagine the conditions these animals have endured prior to being killed for human consumptions is less humane than the deer wandering about and being killed without warning.


I have decided to stop eating meat. And we'll see how I do. I've never really been much of a big meat eater anyway. If I had the choice between a steak and a bowl of brussel sprouts, I would choose the sprouts any day of the week. No matter how stinky and horrible my children think they are, I love them! Delicious.


But here is my next problem ... I'm sure I have shoes and purses made out of leather. How can I use these objects - which once had faces - but not consume their bodies as nourishment. It seems worse to tote around a dead animal as an accessory than it does to eat one for nutritional purposes. This is something I am going to have to figure out. I don't want to be a hypocrite.

Nancy Drew in Newberry

After hearing about the dragging of Anthony Hill that occurred in Newberry, I started to do some research. If you read my editorial last week, then you know that in my research I discovered that our state of South Carolina has no hate crime legislation.  However, whether or not Mr. Hill’s death was a hate crime, by the legal definition, is still up for debate.

With so many unanswered questions, I decided to go down to Newberry and find answers to the unknowns nagging at my soul. Having never visited Newberry before, my plan was to get a sense of the place, the people, the culture – I wanted to get a feeling about the community climate of Newberry. So I booked myself a room at the Hampton, packed my suitcase, gathered up my laptop and headed south on what I like to call my Nancy Drew adventure.

Prior to my trip, I contact Major Todd Johnson at the Newberry County Sheriff’s Office. If I was going to investigate this story, I wanted to read arrest warrants and incident reports.  Major Johnson was kind enough to share these documents with me, but more than that, he was willing to meet with me in Newberry so I could conduct my own face-to-face interview. Because I border on OCD as a researcher, I read countless articles about the dragging, the New Black Panther Party rallies in Newberry, and explanations of hate crime legislation. I couldn’t have been more prepared for my trip or less prepared for the fact that I ended up coming home with more questions than answers.

After spending my first morning wandering in and out of the quaint little shops that comprise Downtown Newberry, I readied myself for my afternoon appointment with Major Johnson. I drove out to the sheriff’s office with mind-racing and my handy-dandy notebook containing all the carefully written out the questions I wanted to ask. Nancy Drew, investigative reporter, ready to tackle the case.

Major Johnson met me in the reception are with a warm smile and a firm handshake (something my mother taught me to look for and a gesture I sincerely appreciate). Keep in mind that there must have been some apprehension on his part. Ever since Hill’s body was discovered and Collins was arrested and jailed for the murder, normalcy in Newberry has been largely disrupted by a slew of television news crews and journalists thirsty for bloody details, FBI agents called in to assist in the investigation, the New Black Panther Party inciting immediate and riotous justice (if necessary), the ACLU, the NAACP – all people, like me, like so many, who need to understand what happened.

Of course, any time one member of a community is dragged for 11 miles, behind a truck, by another member living in the same community, how can life in that community ever be normal again? Perhaps the better question is should life return to “normal” if an event such as this occurred in the course of “normal” everyday life?   

This is how my conversation with Major Johnson began. I was curious to know what life was like in Newberry after the murder and dragging of Anthony Hill – specifically race relations. Johnson confirmed my suspicions: race relations are not great. But not merely for the obvious reasons I had added up in my mind. My inquiries into the murder of Hill and the arrest of Collins morphed into more profound, philosophical questions that expand beyond the borders of Newberry County.

Fear, ignorance, suspicion, paranoia and, ultimately, hatred, have existed between racial groups since the beginning of mankind. The atrocities committed by one group of humans against another group of humans, based solely on race, ethnicity, culture, gender or religion saturated history in the South, across America and throughout the world. Racism is a global problem. Perhaps it is more insidious in the 21^st Century South than it was blatant prior to and for some time after the Civil Rights movement, however, be it subtle or obvious, racism is alive and well every day in every nation.

It would seem, as Major Johnson and I continued our conversation, that poor race relations have continued to smolder, much like a camp fire, and recent political and economic changes have been fodder causing the fire to, once again, erupt into flames.

Johnson and I did not discuss politics. My keen observations, attendance at various local government meetings, coupled with the fact that I do not live in a cave, tells me that many people are not too happy about the fact that we have a Democratic President. Moreover, Obama is not just a democrat; he is a black man, the first African American, to ever take up residence in a historically WHITE House. On the surface the acrid battle is between elephants and donkeys, but my gut tells me that what it all boils down to is that many people are angry (and I don’t use this word lightly) that there is a “colored man” in the presidential office running our country – making powerful decisions – and for the first time in our nation’s history, there is a black man telling a lot of white men what they can and cannot do.

On a local level, consider this – at present there are no African Americans sitting on Pickens County Council, Liberty City Council, Clemson City Council, Central City Council or the School Board of Pickens County. Only one African American man holds a council seat in the city of Easley. What does this say about issue of race in Pickens County?

Add to this an economy in the proverbial toilet, and the racism fire rages. Everyone has suffered from our economic crisis. Unemployment rates have been horrendous and people are struggling to find jobs so they can support their families, pay their bills, and not end up living in a cardboard box on the street. The frantic competition for jobs that appear few and far between has created tension so thick that, forget the knife, we need a chainsaw to cut through it.

When there aren’t jobs to be had, people become desperate and look for any option possible. Crime rates escalate.  Major Johnson told me that there have been several shootings in Newberry, just in the last month or so, that are quite the exception for this area. There have also been changes in South Carolina legislation, he told me, like nothing he has seen in his 20 plus years in law enforcement. Criminal statutes have changed so drastically that people who commit crimes are going to be able to do so with very little consequence.

Why? It costs money to house people in jails. State budget cuts have impacted law enforcement like they have affected the schools. If there isn’t money to house criminals in jail, what is the alternative? Construct a system with lesser penalties for the crimes committed, and, Voilà! kids – Crime Pays! Crime rates are typically higher among minority groups, but this can be traced to other issues like poverty or discrepancies in educational opportunities.  Crime is not about color.

Certainly I could go on and on, but I am only allotted so much space per paper. Rest assured that this is a subject I will continue to research and write about because it is so overwhelmingly important. I would be interested to know what our readers out there think, and I welcome emails, letters and the like. The thing is, racism, race relations, discrimination – these are all topics about which people tends to develop an ostrich mentality. If we bury our heads in the sand and pretend the problem does not exist, it just grows stronger and more powerful like a wildfire left to rage out of control.

I would like to offer a special thanks to Major Todd Johnson down in Newberry. The short amount of time I was able to spend with him made me realize that, however unspeakably heinous the dragging of Anthony Hill was, and as much hate has to exist in order for this to have happened, it is going to be very difficult to prove that this was, by legal definitions, a hate crime. Because race cannot be ignored in this case at some level, this is a prime opportunity for communities to start talking about a problem that continues to plague us no matter how much “progress” we have made.  Above all else, Major Johnson reminded me that the problem of race is not, ironically, a black and white issue. Cocooning the heart of the problem, wherein I also believe lies the solution, is a labyrinth of grey that must be navigated with open minds and open hearts.

Anthony Hill

Anthony Hill, a 30 year old resident of Newberry, was shot to death and dragged for approximately 11 miles behind a pick-up truck. Anthony Hill was a black man. The man suspected of killing him, 19 year old Newberry resident Gregory Collins, is white. While this heinous crime did not occur in Pickens County, it certainly impacts and should affect people everywhere.
Any violent crime committed against another human being is inherently rooted in hatred. Unless the criminal is a true sociopath, an individual must feel an overwhelming intensity of fear, anger or a sense of personal injury, to hurt, torture or kill another person. Thus “hate crimes,” by their very nature and definition, are fueled by a fiery passion.
The murder of Anthony Hill has not been classified as a Hate Crime. According to reports, Hill and Collins were co-workers and friends. The pair was often witnessed having lunch together at the chicken processing plant where they worked. Investigators also believe that the men spent time together outside of work and had spent several hours together prior to Hill’s death.
Whatever the motive behind the killing of Anthony Hill might be, the very act of tying one end of a rope around a human being and the other end to the back of a vehicle, driving the vehicle while knowingly dragging a person behind, should, at the very least, prompt a conversation among members of any community.
The Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) has arrived to assist Newberry County sheriff's deputies with the investigation into whether the death was a hate crime, a determination that will be up to the U.S. Justice Department because South Carolina has no hate crime statute.
Racism has and continues to have strong connections to Southern history and culture. There is no way to dance around this issue nor is racism an issue we, as human beings, should dance around. Unless there is an open dialogue, until people start talking about an issue, it is impossible to even being to work toward a viable solution to the problem.
Hatred and racism are problems that continue to plague American society even in the 21^st Century. These cancers that fester and eat away and undermine communities are not isolated in the south; they exist everywhere in every country across the globe. No community is immune.
However, whether we want to face it or not, there is no denying or ignoring the fact that here, in our home state of South Carolina, a mother has had to explain, will have to help her children come to terms with the fact that their father was not only shot and killed, but also that his body was tied to an automobile and dragged along a stretch of highway for 11 miles. His body left on the side of the road, discarded like the caucus of some unfortunate animal who happened to wander out in front of a car.    
The fact that Hill was a black man only adds more fodder to the burning questions and amps up the intensity of the debate. If a heterosexual white male had been dragged behind another heterosexual white male’s vehicle, the FBI would not be involved in the investigation in an attempt to determine whether or not the incident should be classified as a “hate crime.” The new Black Panthers Movement would not be organizing a rally. Sure, people would talk about the crime and how horrible a crime it is, but white-on-white violence would not spur the kind of intense, racially charged conversation that Hill’s death has to create.
In an ideal world, the death and dragging of Anthony Hill would be an incredible, albeit morbid, opportunity for community members to start talking, to knit together, to ask questions and seek answers. Why is the federal government involved in the investigation of this crime? Because there is no hate crime legislation in South Carolina.
Why isn’t there hate crime legislation in South Carolina? It most definitely is not because this is a utopian state free of racism. So why? Why are there not laws in place in this state to protect victims of hate based crimes and to severely punish those who committed crimes on the basis of race, religion or sexual orientation?    
Of course, in an ideal world, Anthony Hill would not have been shot to death , his lifeless body dragged for miles.

A Mother's Love

When I was pregnant with my first daughter, I received an abundance of advice from everyone I knew and strangers that I didn’t know. I bought and read book after book trying to prepare myself for the joys and challenges of motherhood. The truth is no child comes with an operating manual. And anyone who has multiple children can attest to the fact that what works with one will probably fail miserably with the next.

My daughters are now 6 and 4 years old. What I have learned thus far in my journey as a mom is that every day is a learning experience, every experience a teachable moment.  Above all else, I have learned that my mother, even though when I was a teenager I thought she couldn’t possibly understand anything, is one of the smartest people I know. She has taught me valuable lessons about life, love and motherhood when I wasn’t even looking.

As a single parent, my mom supported us as a nurse. One of the greatest memories of her revolves around her Sunday night preparations for the Monday morning return to work. Every Sunday night she would polish her nursing shoes until they shone bright white. Her white uniform was always meticulously ironed and her nursing cap was crisp and ready for placement atop her neatly pulled up hair the next morning. Watching her, I learned to take pride in my appearance. Not in terms of beauty. All of her preparations were because she took pride in her job as a nurse and the orderly nature of her appearance would show her patients and co-workers how seriously she took her job.

Nursing has always been a labor of love for my mother. It was her chosen career path and a talent she has been practicing for over 40 years. She has always been a care giver to family and strangers alike. I’ve never met another human being like her – someone who is always willing to give of herself if it will help someone in need. She has taught me that time is the greatest gift one person can give to another. Time is precious, and it can never be bought or repaid. Sometimes all we have to offer someone is our time – time to listen, time to sit silently – and that time can be more valuable than any gift purchased from a store.

Raising me by herself was not always an easy task. Like nursing, I know being my mother was a labor of love. When we didn’t have a car, she took four different buses to get me to daycare and herself to work on time. I can count on one hand the number of sick days my mom ever called in. This model of determination and diligence has taught me that hard work is important and that the easy way around things is not always the wisest choice. Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty to accomplish a task, but the completion of that task is worth every ounce of effort.

As I look back on the last 30 plus years I can say with absolute certainty and honesty that there has not been one day in my life that my mom has not told me that she loves me or that she is proud of me. And that love has always been without condition. No matter what has happened in my life, I always knew that I could depend on my mom and that I would always be loved by her regardless of poor choices I might make, hurtful things I might say, thoughtless behaviors I might act out.

Now that I am a mom, I do not let one single day go by without hugging my girls, kissing them and telling them how much I love them, how proud I am of their accomplishments, how special and amazing I think they are, how they make me laugh, how they inspire me to be the best version of myself possible. I know that I am blessed every time I look into my daughters’ big brown eyes and I am overwhelmed with love. As a daughter, who is also a Mom, I never want a day to go by without telling my Mom how much I love her, respect her, value her and appreciate her for giving me the gift of being my mom.

Happy Mother’s Day.