Old Elvis Presley Song

My sneakers

Sunday, March 19, 2017

Today I am grateful for an old Elvis Presley song.  I decided to run out to the local Wawa this morning for a breakfast sandwich for me and some glazed donuts for Himself.  Because he wasn’t with me I had the car radio on.  Sunday is Elvis day on my preferred radio station.

 

It was pretty early so I hadn’t watched any news or been on line.  Still, I was sad, oh so sad and upset about the state of my country and the government officials supposedly running it.  My head was consumed with the faces of the Native Americans, selling their homemade jewelry on blankets when I’d visit my mom in Arizona.  I saw the worried looks on the Mexicans who shovel my walk as they poured coffee from the pot I left on the porch.  The beautiful, scarf-headed faces of the Muslim children at the school I once worked at came into my mind.

 

I thought of the people that Himself worked with from different nations, who are still friends and will now struggle to deal with American companies because of idiotic, irresponsible decisions about who can travel when and where.

 

And I thought about myself and how odd it was to be the “outsider” when we lived in Jakarta, Indonesia.  White and large, with light brown hair, there was no way I could blend.  Asian people would cluster around me to get a picture because I was the novelty. . .the fat white lady.  Just like I had wanted my picture taken with an Aboriginal man in Australia and was surprised that he was offended.  After it happened to me, I understood his offence.  He is not a novelty and neither am I.  He is human.  Real. So am I.

 

I thought about all of the times I have been made fun of, pointed at, laughed at and shamed because of my size.  Yes, many, many times, with people shouting out of car windows at me, “Wide load bitch”.  Awful? Yup.  But also true.  It felt worse than it sounds and I was an adult.  It got me to thinking about an article I read about children. . .yes children. . .who won a Robotics competition and grown-ups in the crowd shouted at them to “get the hell out of this country” because their heritage was Mexican.  Really.  Grown-ups.  And they continued their barrage as the winners left, along with their racist children shouting racial slurs right beside them.  Deplorable.

 

When I criticize decisions by the current administration publicly, I get blasted and labeled a “hater”.  Me?  A hater?  Yet the people screaming at children. . .yes children. . .to “get the hell out” of the place where they were born just because their skin is brown is NOT hating?  How do you even comment on that kind of stupidity?  How do you fight it?  How do you change it?  Am I the out-of-touch-with-reality one, or are they?  I think they are but there are so many of them that I wonder if I’m in an old Twilight Zone episode.

 

Yes, all of this on my way to get a breakfast sandwich two miles away.  You do not want to be in my brain.  It’s exhausting!  And then Elvis sang.  And I thought that some kind person in the White House (and I’m sure there is at least one who struggles like some of the rest of us do) should get the following recording and pipe it into the West Wing every single day.  As I sat at in the Wawa parking lot and cried, I thought that it probably would not affect them.  But it would sure tickle me.

 

Walk a Mile in My Shoes

Elvis Presley

Songwriters: Joe South

Walk a Mile in My Shoes lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

 

If I could be you, if you could be me
For just one hour, if we could find a way
To get inside each other’s mind
If you could see you through my eyes
Instead your own ego I believe you’d be
I believe you’d be surprised to see
That you’ve been blind.

 

Walk a mile in my shoes
just walk a mile in my shoes
Before you abuse, criticize and accuse
Then walk a mile in my shoes

Now if we spend the day
Throwin’ stones at one another
‘Cause I don’t think, ’cause I don’t think
To wear my hair the same way you do
Well, I may be common people
But I’m your brother
And when you strike out
Your tryin’ to hurt me
It’s hurtin’ you, Lord how mercy
Walk a mile in my shoes
just walk a mile in my shoes
Before you abuse, criticize and accuse
Then walk a mile in my shoes
Now there are people on reservations
And out in the ghetto
And brother there for the grace of God
Go you and I,
If I only had the wings of a little angel
Don’t you know, I’d fly
To the top of a mountain
And then I’d cry, cry, cry

Walk a mile in my shoes
just walk a mile in my shoes
Before you abuse, criticize and accuse
Then walk a mile in my shoes

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