Vendor Writing

By Norma B.

Dear Dad, I Remember When

I spent a lot of time in June thinking about my dad — not just because Father’s Day was approaching, but also because my dad would have been 74 this year.

You lived a short, meaningful life of 37 years, and now you’ve been gone for just as many.

It’s funny how the simplest things are what stand out the most in my mind. Like how you used Brylcreem to slick your hair back, or how you’d do exercises in the mornings especially all kinds of push-ups with me on your back or watching nearby. You even taught me how to do a “real push-up” not one of those “girly” ones.

I remember how I used to play office with your fancy IBM electric typewriter. That is until I accidentally left it on all night and playtime was over. Thankfully, you didn’t hold it against me. Instead, you bought me one of my very own! It was a manual Royal typewriter with a hard shell case. It wasn’t as nice as yours, but it did the trick. I pounded those keys for years until I got my own electric typewriter.

I also remember how you’d hold my hand when I was little to make sure I didn’t fall. Steps have always been SO tricky for me.

You were always up for a good game of pool — a skill I never mastered — even though Pop ran the local pool room. But it was fun watching you play with your twopiece pool cue.

You always enjoyed fishing. My first fishing pole was a homemade cane pole with a reel attached for a left-handed person.I

remember how we dug up our own bait — weather permitting — and you seemed pleased that I could handle the worms (the bigger the better) without squealing like a girl!

In an effort to impress you, I remember learning to call an NFL game like a pro. One problem: You were more into college ball than pro, which is, well, different. This led to a compromise and you tolerated the UT Vols and I learned to appreciate Alabama: Roll Tide! (I figured I could get away with it because I had relatives in both states.)

As for pro ball, you were never a fan of my Pittsburgh Steelers but we could always agree on the Chicago Bears and Walter Peyton. (My dad lived in Illinois.) Sadly, you weren’t here to see them win Super Bowl XX. Don’t worry, I cheered enough for both of us. They even had a song and dance routine called, “The Super Bowl Shuffle.” It was one-of-a-kind like them.

I remember you attempting to teach me how to drive your shiny red truck, that is until I nearly drove the truck into the pond at Pop and Grandma’s house. Driving lessons were abruptly canceled! (To this day, the only driving I do is driving people crazy, and I hear I’m really good at that!)

Whenever you came for a visit you’d always take me shopping! I remember one time I wanted this stuffed animal, a dog, and you didn’t want to get it, but I pouted until I got my way. I named it after you: Georgette. (My dad’s name was George.) You were not amused.

There was also the pottery wheel you gave me that made such a mess, but boy, was it fun!

And the Lite-Brite you bought me that served as my night light until it stopped working.

I also loved the Easy-Bake Oven you bought me, that is until I baked you a cake and you didn’t show up to eat it. The fascination ended as quickly as it began after that. I guess that was your way of making up for not being there (and maybe a way to push mom’s buttons), but all that “stuff” was a poor substitute for a dad. If you only knew I would’ve preferred your actual presence more than all those presents.

I’m grateful for ALL my memories of you, they’re all that I have left, but it makes me sad when I think of all the things you’ve missed over the years like getting to know my kids and grandkids. Sometimes I see glimpses of you in them and it makes me smile.

The son you wanted so badly, you finally had him, but you didn’t live long enough to enjoy him or have an impact on his life and see what he became. He has absolutely no memory of you — how sad. I guess that makes me the “lucky one” by comparison. What I wouldn’t give to have you here. Sometimes I close my eyes and I can see your face as plain as day. Especially your blue eyes. Other times I struggle to remember what your voice sounded like.

Sometimes I try to imagine what you would’ve been like as you got older, what pearls of wisdom you’d have shared with me as I got older. I guess I’ll never know.

One thing is certain, you’re always in my heart, and you’re often on my mind even after all this time I love you and miss you and I suppose I always will.

#IRingtheBell

By Jen A.

It is said that when the 19th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution was finally ratified, granting women the right to vote, bells rang out in celebration across the land — except in Nashville.

At the time, it was necessary that 36 states approve ratification to codify the amendment. Tennessee was that 36th state. The legislature narrowly voted to approve ratification on Aug. 19, 1920.

However, when the legislators sobered up and realized, with horror, what they had done, the House reassembled on Aug. 31st and voted against ratification 47-24. Fortunately for the women of the United States, that vote came too late. The 19th Amendment was proclaimed in effect by the federal government on Aug. 26, 1920.

JEN A., CONTRIBUTOR VENDORSince that day in August 100 years ago, the perennially male-dominated Tennessee legislature has done all it can to make Tennessee women pay for that perceived insult to their legislative manhood.

The Nashville Public Library has assembled ephemera and other documentation from that time and designed an online exhibition, Votes for Women - Legacy of the 19th Amendment, to commemorate Tennessee’s historic role in the march toward social equality for women.

To reclaim the sound of celebratory bells that the women of Nashville missed out on in 1920, NPL is asking that we all join them to ring a bell and highlight a women’s cause you feel needs attention in 2020.

Take a cellphone video ringing a bell,

say who you are, and tell us about your cause. Post it on social media and make sure to tag NPL #IRingTheBell .

I will ring a bell every day in August for the women in Tennessee jails and prisons who are forced to give birth, to give life, in handcuffs and with their ankles shackled and hobbled with chains. It is one of the most cruel, inhumane practices Tennessee perpetrates against women. The male-dominated 111th Tennessee legislature TWICE voted to continue the barbaric practice.

There need to be more women in the Tennessee legislature. After you ring your bell, don’t forget to use the power of the 19th Amendment and VOTE! We have the power. It’s time the women of Tennessee used it!

You can’t (silence) the truth

BY TYRONE M. “BRIGHT STAR”, CONTRIBUTOR VENDOR

Just let me start off by saying Donald (fake ass president) Trump wants to be like Adolf Hitler. Worship, division, hatred, bigotry and domination. He wants absolute power over everyone that don’t agree with him. His devout racism is quickly spreading throughout this racist land.

Speaking of police brutality, there has been a huge infiltration of racist groups in our law enforcement all over this nation. To name a few: the KKK, the neo-nazis, skinheads and other groups. Too many to mention. Their infiltration has caused these institutions of law enforcement to be rotten from the ground up. Don’t be deceived, there’s good police personnel, too, but the rotten ass ones make the other ones look bad. These rotten ones know it’s hard to get a conviction in racist America, because prosecutors and police unions are always on their sides. This white supremacy thang is preached to the weak ass minded folks. Donald (fake ass president) Trump wants to be like Adolf Hitler.

He reminds me of Jones and what he did in Jonestown. He got everyone to follow him and then destruction came! He now is trying to get rid of the insurance coverage, the Affordable Care Act, often called Obamacare.

Racism has been woven into the racist fabric of this nation for hundreds of years, way before Donald got in

power. This nation needs a spiritual cleansing from all the evil in it. This (occupant) of the White House has led this nation to a racist pivot point which will have years before a full recovery.

Now let me call out the brainless followers. The main one of the occupant first, (fixer) William Barr, who does everything Trump tells him — brainless. Secondly, VP Mike Pence who can’t say Black Lives Matter. The reporter asked him to say it three times and he couldn’t say it. Maybe Mikey because you don’t believe Black Lives Matter. It’s not a slogan, Mikey, it’s a movement! And come November, Mikey, it’s going to get you and Donald (fake ass president) out of the White House. Please don’t get lost in Trump’s racism. He don’t believe nothing his intelligence agents tells him.

And last but not least, haven’t forgot you Mitch. Ole Mitch McConnell a racist as conservative for years. Every time Trump utters some racist trash you weigh in on it! You, VP Mikey and Fixer Barr need to get your racist head out of Donald Trump’s ass. He’s out of touch He’s out of his mind He’s out of time Let’s all get rid of the occupant of the White House!

Abuse set me on the wrong road

WILLIAM B., CONTRIBUTOR VENDOR

My name is William and I have a little bit of a story to tell you. Things started going bad for me as far as I can remember when I was three years old. That’s when I was sexually abused. I’m not going to say who it was, they’re dead now anyway. It was a couple of them and that went on for quite a few years and with other people, but these two were the ones that started it. I was just three years old.

As the years went by I was running around with what they call the Yellow Haired Gang here in Nashville. They used me as a sidekick, going to get coffee, going to get cold drinks, whatever. Back then a kid could go wherever they wanted to. Mother and daddy just really didn’t care. I was uptown all hours of the night, and I was what you call a night owl. I would sleep during the day and stay out all night long. When I wasn’t out doing something I was a couch potato, watching TV. I was very much into a lot of TV shows. It Takes a Thief, Bill McCoy, stuff like that. Shows some of you have probably never even heard of.

My crime life started at a very young age and I’m not proud of it. But there’s nothing I can do but tell you the things that happened, and why I done them I don’t know. All I know is my crime life started at the age of five years old. Why? I think it had a lot to do with the people I was associated with, the Yellow Haired Gang, my cousins, my brothers and their friends. I was like one of the gang members even though I wasn’t initiated, I didn’t want to be. At that time I didn’t even know what a gang was.

I’ve had a lot of post-traumatic stress in my life. I got hit by three automobiles in one year. I got shot once in the leg. I got stabbed accidentally. A friend was horseplaying and he stuck me in the leg. One of the post-traumatic stress things that happened is when my older brother got murdered in 1955. That laid a heavy hurt on my heart. It took a year before it actually hit me that my brother was gone and dead. And when it did, it caused me a lot of problems. I had to be locked up because I tried to kill myself when I was seven years old.

I went to two different places. First they sent me to a place called Central State Hospital for observation for three and a half months. Then I was sent to Cloverbottom for three and a half months. But three and a half months didn’t exist. I was there for TEN YEARS. That

took a big bite out of my life. But in a way, some of it was good because that’s when I learned to play spoons, when I was eight years old.

The very first night I got there, I wet the bed. This lady stripped all my clothes off, laid me on the bed, tied the sheet around my waist, tied my hands and feet to the railings of the bed, and beat me with a big wide leather belt. I will never ever ever forget that. My mother came that weekend to see me and she seen all them welts on me and she went to the superintendent and told him about it and I don’t know what happened but she ended up breaking a pocketbook over his head. She got suspended from coming to see me for a while until she got the police to come out there with her.

I would have never gotten out of that place if I hadn’t escaped. I got what you’d call a medical dishonorable discharge, against medical advice. I had stayed gone two weeks and they felt like if I could stay out of trouble for that two weeks I’d be alright. I could not stay out of trouble. I don’t know what was wrong in my life, but I just went down the wrong road when I was real young and it took a long time to find the road to straighten me out. It took four trips to the penitentiary for me to finally find my lesson that crime don’t pay and life is not a bowl of cherries. If you want something you gotta work for it in some way form or fashion. You can’t go out and take it from other people.

What it boils down to is my life is pretty good since this last time I got out of prison. I was brought here by the prison to Room In The Inn. I’ve been here going on eight years. There’s a lot of people here I really love. Father Strobel, Rachel, Paul, a lot of others. But there’s some that I don’t care for at all because they don’t care for me and they’ve made that plain to me. That’s their problem, not mine. I don’t have to worry about people hating me. I hate myself sometimes, so them hating me don’t bother me one bit.

I’d like to thank you for listening and hope you don’t feel mad at me for some of the things that I’ve done in life. I’ve had a very hard time learning how to cope with life because I’d been sexually abused, physically abused and mentally abused. I don’t want nobody feeling sorry for me. Just please watch your kids. Have a blessed life.