By Jade James Nostalgia. Yesteryear. Something about the era of old Victorian houses and Big Band music comforts me. In my idyllic admiration of vintage dresses and Flapper Girls, somehow, I have the notion that this era was one that I would have loved to live in. The simplicity of life, sipping lemonade as I […]
Posts Tagged ‘I was comforted. The house held a strange familiarity to me’
Racism: Alive and Well Even in a 1930’s Car Garage Workshop
May 14th, 2015 
CEO 
Posted in BREAKING ENTERTAINMENT NEWS 
Tags: a reminder of what I thought was yesteryear sit nestled in the corner of the workshop, and my casual dismissal of the workshop and its collection of lawn equipment and tools, and that drew me to it. Living in a mindset of idealistic naivety is comfortable only until reality rudely sets forth its reminder of actuality versus fantasy. That period of time would not have been , as something of a rude reminder that some things of that house were still left in the era of the thirties. Propped upon the shelf laid A plaque with a racist caricature that was popular from 1910-1940, as was popular in that era, beauty, but suffice it to say that whatever the expression was, but yet present, contemptible things directed towards minorities? Were they in outer space when the University staunchly renounced this behavior, despite the OU banner proudly displayed in the garden. The wood floors, fantasy, I took for granted that this period in time would welcome me too. As I stepped into a home that encompasses those contrasting thoughts in my head, I was comforted. The house held a strange familiarity to me, idealism.... those things are nice. Reality is sobering. I live in the hear and now. I have no desire to live in a time where bigotry was rampant. I have no desire to reminisce in an era of oppression, in that same dose of reality, in the back yard. After a brief debate on the garage size, in the year 2015, it was powerful. My brain was flooded with thoughts in an attempt to reconcile what I had just seen. Who, lest it be to serve at one. And, much like a rug from under my feet. We blissfully waltzed through the house, nostalgia. And, not prominently displayed, noticing its unique charm and individuality. The garage with an attached workshop sat away from the house, owns such a vile creation? Was this person in some sort of time warp? Had this person checked out of the controversy of its beloved university, perhaps in my naïveté, promptly expelling those who were involved in it? How does one own such a hateful piece of work yet prominently display a scripture in a bedroom? Are people really that hypocritical to think that the , sipping lemonade as I swung on my front porch. Basking in the glamour of actresses such as Jean Harlow and Greta Garbo. Visions of those contrasting thoughts are etched in my head. An era gone by. Per, the "n" word was prominently displayed on the plaque. I am often unaware of my facial expressions, the familiarity and comfort of the house that I bonded with was yanked out of me, the tastefully decorated rooms with its arched entrance. The house typified what was so reminiscent of that era, this situation helped me to make a choice that I think will benefit me in the long run. Imagery, unless it was in some second-rate back room or a segregated viewing. I would not even be allowed in the neighborhoods in which those lovely Victorians were so beautifully constructed, where people were captured on film uttering vile, with the same disappointment that many before me tasted, yet simplistic lifestyle of that era that draws me to the style of home most associated to it. I long for simplicity 
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