Author: littlepeoplescoffee

The first time I heard the term “white privilege” it left a sour taste in my mouth. It felt like an attack on my character. “I’m not a racist. How dare they call me privileged.” Then I decided to try and understand why white people were being called privileged. When I thought about it, I realized that privilege has always been a positive term in my life. It meant I was getting something that other people didn’t get, usually because I earned it. It was a reward of sorts. Dictionary.com describes privilege as “a right, immunity, or benefit enjoyed only by a person beyond the advantages of most.” I didn’t earn being white, I just am. It has provided me with opportunities that people of color often struggle to obtain. I didn’t realize it at the time because I was only focused on myself and not thinking of people of color, probably because there weren’t many people of color in my life.

I’m no longer in denial about my privilege, so I am encouraging others to seek understanding. This isn’t a political post to be debated. It’s the truth. As Dr. Phil would say, “You can’t fix what you can’t acknowledge.” This is me, acknowledging that I am a privileged white person. I am not ashamed of that because I didn’t do it on purpose, I was simply born white. It’s not a bad thing to be privileged unless you refuse to acknowledge it. Privilege isn’t a bad word, but it’s an accurate word to describe the head start that white people had when our country was founded.

We’ve come a long way, but we have a long way to go. If this post makes you angry and itching to debate the topic, I won’t debate it with you. You are enjoying your privilege and don’t want to lose it. I don’t blame you. Life is hard and we want to take advantage of all the privileges that we have, especially the easy ones, like skin color. I’m not saying white people don’t struggle or work really hard. I got married at 18, had two kids by the time I was 21, and we struggled financially for more than a decade. It did not feel like privilege when we received WIC vouchers so that we could feed our kids. But that’s not the point! We all struggle to survive in one way or another. Privilege is not something that is specific to one person’s story. Privilege is something that our founding fathers provided to white people during a time when black people were thought of as property, not as humans.

I have a lot more to learn. I can’t make white people learn alongside me, but I hope some will. This is important stuff. Remember this song? “Jesus loves the little children. All the children of the world. Red and yellow, black and white; all are precious in his site.” I’m trying to be a better human. That’s all.

Galatians 5:22-23 “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.”

#whiteprivilege

Today I’m angry! I’m so fortunate to have everything I need during this crisis. I can work at home so I’m getting paid. As of today (who knows what tomorrow will bring), none of my friends or loved ones have contracted COVID-19. I love staying home and binging Netflix shows so this lifestyle isn’t a huge change of pace for us. We are going to be fine!

I recently learned that a dear friend of mine, who is immune compromised and going through chemo, is in desperate need of toilet paper. I got up very early today and went online to see if I could find a store that had some in inventory. There were several Targets in my area that showed a “limited supply” online, so I picked one and lined up outside the store before they opened this morning. When the door opened, it was a mad rush to the toilet paper aisle, which was completely empty. I had to swallow back tears. If I’m being honest, I’m swallowing tears right now.

I picked up some makeup remover wipes and went to check out. I figured that, even though you can’t flush ‘em, you can still clean your butt with them. I asked the manager up front why their website showed that they had toilet paper in stock when they don’t? She said not to trust what I see online because the system just can’t keep up with everything going on right now. They gave me a couple of ideas for other places to find toilet paper. I truly appreciate that they did that.

To the healthy people who are hoarding toilet paper, STOP!!!! SHARE!!! To the dingleberries out there who are buying toilet paper and then upselling it on E-Bay and Amazon, you are the lowest of the low. You don’t even deserve the attention I’m giving you right now. 

Wondering what a dingleberry is? Pick a definition. They both apply.

From Merrium-Webster: din·gle·ber·ry (diNGəlˌberē)

1: a foolish, stupid, or contemptible person.

2: a piece of dried fecal matter clinging to the hair around the anus.

I’ve seen so much good these past couple of weeks. I would even go as far to say that I’ve seen more good than bad. I pray for those of you that are taking advantage of this situation. I pray for you because you need it more than anybody does.

What are the odds that my two favorite Stephanie’s on Earth are getting married exactly one week apart this month? What are the odds that, although both of them live in Minnesota, neither is getting married here? What are the odds that both of them have spent the last several years with the man of their dreams, both got engaged in 2019, and then both had to plan October weddings on different weekends because I couldn’t be in two places at one time? The odds are astronomical, but so is my excitement for these two ladies. I sit here in tears as I think about how happy I am for both of them.

October 12, 2019 – Stephanie & Elliott

My sister, Leslie, has been praying for decades that the right man would find her eldest daughter, Stephanie. She prays for all of her kids, but Stephanie is the oldest of her four children so she’s been praying for her the longest. When Elliott stepped into Steph’s life, the prayers were answered. God went above and beyond when he answered this one. What a gift!

I have loved Stephanie since before she was born. I was so excited that Leslie was going to join me in parenthood. Unfortunately, we didn’t live near each other so the visits weren’t as frequent as we’d hoped. We always made the most of the time we had though. Stephanie doesn’t know this, but there is a song that reminds me of her every time I hear it. Sometimes I listen to it when I think about her (like I did a few minutes ago). The song is “My How You’ve Grown” by the 10,000 Maniacs. Part of the lyric says “Every time we say goodbye, you’re frozen in my mind as the child that you never will be. You never will be again.” I still tear up when I hear it. During those few and far between visits during her childhood, she had always grown so much, and it still breaks my heart that I wasn’t in her life more.

Fast forward to 2018! Stephanie moved to Minnesota last year to live near Elliott while he attends school up here. I was/am SO EXCITED!!! It’s only two years, but I’ll take what I can get. My sweet Stephanie lives just an hour down the road and I have seen her more in the past year than I could have ever hoped for. On Thursday, our family will head to South Carolina for her wedding this weekend as she becomes Stephanie Marie Floyd. What a wonderful day it will be!

October 19, 2019 – Stephanie & Dan

Stephanie Joy (Westbrook) Brace entered our lives when Bob’s brother married her almost 25 years ago. The marriage ended a long time ago, but we like to say that “we got her in the divorce.” She is an essential part of our family and I love her like a sister. Always will! She raised three wonderful men (Logan, Noah & Seth) who we love as if they were our own. Always will!

Stephanie met Dan years ago while she was visiting her extended family in the U.P. (Upper Peninsula of Michigan). When she got home from that trip, she told me all about this guy she had met. There was a twinkle in her eye when she talked about him and I had a feeling that he was “the ONE”. Unfortunately, she lived in Minnesota with her boys and Dan lived in the U.P. with his kids, so the odds were against them. However, kids grow up, and love cuts through when it’s destined to be, and here we are. It may have taken years, but they finally happened. 

To say I am happy for Stephanie and Dan doesn’t convey the joy in my heart that swelled when they finally got together. Last November we invited Dan to join our family for Thanksgiving. Imagine being invited to Thanksgiving by your girlfriend’s ex-husband’s family who you’ve never met. I don’t think many people would accept that invitation, and I’m pretty sure there aren’t many families who would extend it. He bravely accepted and is now officially part of our crazy family. Of course, we had to let him know that we are part of the “Stephanie Package”. When he marries her, he marries us too! It’s weird, but that’s who we are, weird.

Bob and I will be spending the week between weddings in Myrtle Beach, but a week from this Friday we will be flying to Marquette, MI to attend this special wedding. Stephanie won’t share our last name anymore as she becomes Mrs. Stephanie Joy (Westbrook) Johnston. I already changed her name on my phone. It makes me smile!

So, I raise my glass and say “CHEERS” to my Stephanie’s! I love you both so much, and I couldn’t be happier for you if I tried. May God bless your marriages as you share the rest of your lives with the men you love.

As a 52-year-old woman, all I want is for life to slow down. Every year seems to pass faster than the last. As a seventh grader whose friends had all started their period, I just wanted things to move along so I could catch up with my friends. I guess you could say I was a “late bloomer.” My sister, Leslie, was an early bloomer who needed a bra in fourth grade. I remember the day our mom took us bra shopping. I was in sixth grade and didn’t need a bra yet, but mom took pity on me and bought me one anyway. I had nothing to put in it, but I had a bra. Things were looking up.

Soon after the bra purchase, my mom gave me the greatest gift ever. She had ordered an educational tool to facilitate a conversation with me about becoming a woman. More specifically, it was a box that contained everything a girl would need to know about menstrual cycles. Along with the educational materials there were various samples of feminine hygiene products. I LOVED that box. After our conversation, I stored my box on the top shelf of my bedroom closet; patiently waiting for the day I became a woman. I admit that I did get it down a few times. My sister and I enjoyed dropping the tampons in the toilet and watching them explode.

That summer, Leslie and I went to a week-long camp with our church youth group. We were so excited. We had been to girl scout camp with other girls before, but this camp had boys! A couple days in, Leslie, who was ten years old, got her very first period. She was devastated and embarrassed. Aside from the camp nurse, I was the only one who knew what was going on. She was so scared. Mom hadn’t had “the talk” with her so the nurse and I handled it. I let her know that it was our secret and that nobody else would know.

I still hadn’t had my first period yet, so there was a tiny bit of jealousy. It just wasn’t fair! I was the one with the box in my closet. I was ready! But I loved my sister and I swore to handle this situation like the best big sister in the world. Leslie had to go to the nurses tent several times a day to take care of her feminine hygiene needs. It was no big deal at first, but people started to ask why she was going to the nurse’s tent so often? I shut down their questions by telling them she was sick, but as the day’s passed, the questions continued. People wanted to know what was wrong with her. Out of pure frustration, I swore everyone to secrecy and let them know that Leslie had cancer and that she had to go to the nurse’s tent several times a day for her medication. It seemed like a brilliant idea at the time.

At last, they left me alone and I had some peace. Leslie was fine with my plan because I had kept her secret. I had saved her from the embarrassment of people knowing she had started her period, or so I thought. There was one thing I hadn’t considered and it would come back to haunt me. A few days later our youth group got on the church bus and headed home.

Our parents picked us up from the church parking lot and took us home. We told our mom about the events of the week. My mom felt so bad that Leslie hadn’t been prepared. Then, the unthinkable happened. My mother went into my bedroom closet, took down my box, and gave it to my sister. It was bad enough that my little sister started her period before me, now she had my cherished box. Mom promised me she would get another one, but she never did. It was devastating.

On the other side of town, all of the kids from youth group that I had lied to were arriving home as well. Although I had sworn each of them to secrecy, they still told their parents that Leslie had cancer. Why would they do that? It’s simple really, they wanted their parents to pray for her. Why wouldn’t they? She had cancer. This was nothing to joke about. They were sincerely worried about her. Even worse, one of the parents added Leslie to the church prayer chain. The whole congregation was praying for my sister.

The following Sunday our family went to church. The word was out that Leslie had cancer so we received a lot of hugs, sad faces, and people telling us they were praying for Leslie. My parents were totally confused about this until one of our fellow campers parent’s asked them specifically about Leslie’s cancer. Oops! The cat was out of the bag. My parents spent most of that Sunday explaining to multiple families that their ten-year-old daughter did not have cancer, but had started her period. They went on to explain that I had told people she had cancer so as not to embarrass her with the truth. In the end, everybody in our church knew that Leslie had started her period at the age of ten. I was a failure as a sister.

I am convinced that my punishment for this lie was that I would be thirteen before I finally started my period. It was an excruciating delay. I had no box to pull out of my closet, just the nearly empty box of Kotex that belonged to my little sister under the bathroom sink. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I was the lucky one for starting late. Once I had the much-anticipated gift of menstruation, I was counting the days to menopause.

UPDATE: I wrote this story several months ago and shared it with my family. Everything really happened exactly as it’s written. Today, for my 52^ndbirthday, my mother sent me a box. At first, I was confused by all the different feminine hygiene products that had been stuffed into the box. Then I saw “The Period Book” along with a note from my mom that said, “Are we even now?”  The moral of this story is that if you complain long enough, you will eventually get your way. Patience is a virtue.