Confessions of negligence

I repent of my negligence! It’s been a flurry of activity the last couple of weeks. Last week I was in North Carolina working on a story I’ve been yearning to do for Intern Edition. Turns out my story won’t be in the show… But that’s alright, because I’ll be hosting the show. I really wanted it to be part of IE, but there are already too many shows to possibly include them all in the final cut... some will be Web only pieces. And I was facing a really tight time crunch before leaving for Chicago… And my IE editors asked if I wanted to audition.
I said sure.
And I did.
And I got the part!
Thankful for that!

Now I am in Chicago. It may not have 12 gates (a play on the Negro spiritual "Oh what a beautiful city") but it's still beautiful. And it’s a waaayyyyy far cry from the country roads Shauna and I drove through last week on our way to North Carolina. We wanted to enter a prison to interview a dad taking part with the Hope House summer art camp. However the Bureau of Prisons denied our entrance request.

They cited an outdated program statement that was outdated. We looked it up and couldn’t find it anywhere. We did learn however that the statement after the one they cited was rescinded in 2000… Ummmm… that was eight years ago, so no telling when the statement they quoted me was updated. I called the BOP representative at the prison and he didn’t give me a straight answer. He put me off on the warden (who wanted us to enter the facility) saying he had the final approval to let us in, which is true… but he could be fined or something if he decided to grant us entrance on his own… because that decision would be against BOP regulations or mandate or something, so in other words, the warden could do what he wanted, but the BOP could jerk him around if they so choose. Who knows, maybe they wouldn’t… but maybe he’d get a funky job review or something that could cause him to be demoted or loose his job. You never know with these things… What I don’t appreciate is the BOP not taking responsibility for their decision not to let us in and putting it off on the prison warden, when he really didn’t have a clear-cut choice that left him free of potential sanctions from the BOP.

But I’m through fussing about their side-stepping foolishness… I’m glad I took the North Carolina trip, though. The drive was relaxing… well it was once I got out of the metropolitan areas. One of the things that I noticed in north Carolina were these mini cemeteries, collections of four, five, six or so gravestones marking the resting spots of what I assume are families. Some of these collections were in the middle of fields, near the road. Others appeared to be neatly tucked underneath collection of tall trees, also seemingly made to host the remains of family members. There’s this one collection of family grave markers that I noticed along a highway. Sometimes I wonder about those resting beneath the stones… whose bodies have long been dust, whose bones are left bare deep beneath the earth. What were they like? Did they own slaves? If so, how did they treat them? Did they beat or hang them? What were they like?

There’s a love/dislike I have for the south. Not necessarily for the south as it is today… but for its wretched history. Oh, but my thoughts cannot stay there. It’s so true that the past is the past, but people must constantly be reminded, if not in blatant ways, then through contemplative opportunities such as black history month or through memorial museums that chronicle horrific events such as slavery or the Holocaust… Yes, these reminders keep the past in view, but hey, those who forget the past are destined to…

And we don’t want those events repeated.

But back to my like of the South! The “like” part of my relationship comes from the love of the red dirt, the green grasses, the spectacular change of seasons, and the people who say hello on the streets… Oh the beauty!

Every place, every city has its charm, has its beauty.