When I was twelve or so, a bit late I know,
I learned to ride a bike, and I remember
riding around my little town, wearing,
I think, a flat-topped cap with the Rebel
battle flag on it, thinking it was just
a southern thing, not connecting it
with racism or prejudice, but in my
tiny town, there was division, the
“quarters” where the African American
Families lived; elsewhere, where they didn’t.
I had no intentional preference:
the whites and the kids of color
were all my classmate, and we got on just fine,
even though now, in retrospect, I know
that the ‘60s, when I started, were times
of conflict, and the ‘70s, God only knows
what they were, and the 80s, when I
graduated high school, started college,
learned about AIDS, and got a better
perspective on the minority perspective.
Full disclosure, I’m like everyone,
I have my prejudices, not based on race,
but religion is trickier, and I admit I’ve
a lot of work to do on my bias
against people who aren’t the sharpest
knives in the drawer. And sometimes
I wonder how even a bear of little brain
could believe what many humans seem to
My point, I know I’m coming to it slowly,
Is this: I’m proud of my southern heritage—
I love the people, the climate, the culture,
But the South lost the war for a reason:
Its cause was not just—yeah, states’ rights
And all, but we know it was about the slaves.
And invading the U.S. capitol in the name
Of the Confederacy is attacking the U.S.
Government on behalf of a hostile foreign
Power. And that, my friends, is treason.
I hope they know, F and J passed over,
and the others, sill lving, that
I love them all, and that hug
I gave to someone’s mom
was sincere, not just a gesture.
Copyright 2021
T. Allen Culpepper