More Writers Than Steelworkers

In most of the world, “Who’s your daddy?” is a rhetorical question trying to express dominance. In Mississippi, saying “who’s your daddy?”

Is an effort to establish and define already existing relationships. It’s often the start of something remarkable.

There's a phenomenon in Mississippi that I call “almost kin.” It means somebody who is very closely related, but not actually family, even if you've never met before.

In Mississippi, there are more writers than steel workers. It happens because pencils are less expensive than chrome ingots. As Eudora Welty and others have pointed out, our lives are stories.

Because of my ADHD I tend to talk about a lot of random crap when I exercise. It helps me focus.

Incarcerated at the Mississippi Methodist Rehabilitation Center for a few days, I met some young people whose job it is to make me stronger.

During my dumbbell work, I mentioned Bill Crawford’s book, “A Republican’s Lament,” and Gil Carmichael’s career, only to find out that my therapist knows Carmichael’s grandchildren. Discussing it further, I learned that her mother had been editor of the Meridian Star. Being able to say, “I've read your mom’s work.” when you've never met before is a very Mississippi kind of relatedness.

Another one of my therapists, I learned, knows both of my nephews. She was a member of the Mu chapter of Kappa Delta, but more importantly, the Rose of the Alpha Mu chapter of Kappa Alpha Order.

I hate to use a phrase like “old rose” because KA Roses are forever young, but I am old, and it’s been my honor to know quite a few of them. KA Rose only lasts for a year, but it creates a lifetime of connectedness. I keep that connectedness with me because it begins with a young woman watching out for a bunch of boys who don't know any better.

Nearly half of Mississippi’s young people don't stay here. It’s been that way for a while. The more educated you are, the more likely you are to move away.

For those who do stay, it can be like wandering around an endless forest with more trees than people. Those of us who do live here eventually end up meeting at the watering places and learn how close we are, then drifting back to our part of the woods.

Some day, in the next twenty-five years, I'm going to leave Mississippi to whoever is still here. I've always had this image in my head of the kind of Mississippi I’d leave behind. I've come to terms with the fact that much of it won't happen.

Some days, it seems like Mississippi never gets better. That's a matter of perspective, though. If I pull back in time, I can see a world where I was born a day and a half after somebody up and murdered Medgar Evers, but now, this brilliant young woman is trying to make me stronger while she raises a new baby in a new Mississippi. From that perspective, it looks like Mississippi has traveled light years since I got on board.