A Letter Regarding Changing the Name of REL High (From June 2018)

Dear Ladies and Gentlemen of the Tyler ISD Board: My name is David Dickerson; I am a life-long resident of Tyler, a parent of students here, and the product of a TISD education, myself. Like just about everyone else in our city, I have an opinion regarding the potential renaming of Robert E. Lee High School. Let me begin by disclosing that I am a white male, and a graduate of Lee from 1990. Demographically, that puts me in the company of many influential Tylerites who are no doubt filling your email inboxes with messages urging you to “protect our history,” etc. For some reason, many of my colleagues—especially those who share my culture and tint of skin—are vehement that we continue to honor General Lee with the name of one of our large schools. I note that very few of my vocal classmates from the 1990s were the least bit interested in history when it was being taught AT Lee high, nor are they particular students of that field, now, aside from being in their mid 40s, and picking up a bit of history from being alive. It does not bother them in the slightest that the Lee name was historically chosen as a thumb-in-the-eye to the Black community in East Texas, and to the Federal Government, both of whom were forcing changes to how we set about educating young people in the South back when the school was named. Of course, nothing about the Lee name is alarming to them—nor was it to me when I attended the school. I never gave a second of critical thought as to why we went to a school named after a Confederate General who had no ties to our community. Lee was Lee to me—the Confederate flag was a symbol of rebellious fun for me and my white classmates, and we knew little-to-nothing about the war between the states. We also never asked a single black person what any of that might have meant to them. What can I say? We were oblivious to that chapter of our collective past, as well as to the benefits we all enjoyed because of that past. We were not educated, nor informed, and certainly not wise or loving. I thank God that we are not frozen at age 18 in our knowledge, understanding, our wisdom, or our love. Thankfully, we can grow and become better versions of ourselves. I say all of that because, in the 28 years I have lived since leaving REL, I have learned about our history, and I have become more wise, and loving, towards my fellow men and women. I have learned the benefits that come with asking critical questions instead of merely accepting things as they are, and asking how my preferences might be understood by people who do not share my culture and perspectives, nor the benefits I enjoy because of those birthrights. Now, it falls to each of you to ask critical questions, and to make a hard stand to do what is best for all of the students you are charged with caring for. I firmly believe that, were we naming our high school today rather than during the tumultuous times when the Lee name was first chosen, we would certainly not consider honoring a Confederate General with no ties to our community. There is simply no justifiable reason to honor him. Doing so is divisive in this community made up of so many families with such a variety of cultures and experiences. And now is the time to change the name—the new building will have new signs, anyway, and putting off making the change will be nothing but a waste of money. You, ladies and gentlemen of the board, are more knowledgeable than our grandfathers were about the role race and culture play in individual experiences of our community. You are more understanding than they were about your role as stewards of the educational experience of our children. You have the chance to show that you (we) are more wise and—most importantly—more loving than our grandfathers in our care for the experiences of the myriad of students who will walk the halls of the new high school, even those long after we are but faint memories to those students (as the board members who first named the school are to us, today). By the way, the name of the school is not a matter of majority rules—all the white-skinned people I know can have no problem with the Lee name, and can want to protect their personal history (“I went to Lee, and that is good enough for my kids!”), but those attitudes completely ignore the complex cultural environment we share with our fellow citizens, and ignored this moment of history that we occupy, today. Fortunately, I believe that you all enjoy a higher perspective than many of my former classmates on the whole issue. I am thankful to each of you for your service to our community, and for you taking the time to read this lengthy email. Know that there are many of us in this community who understand the difficult position you are in, and who will stand up and defend you once the name is changed. Sincerely yours, David Dickerson

Salvation for a Demon

by Peter Rollins

IN THE CENTER OF A ONCE-GREAT CITY THERE STOOD A MAGNIFICENT CATHEDRAL that was cared for by a kindly old priest who spent his days praying in the vestry and caring for the poor. As a result of the priest's tireless work, the cathedral was known throughout the land as a true sanctuary. The priest welcomed all who came to his door and gave completely without prejudice or restraint. Each stranger was, to the priest, a neighbor in need and this the incoming of Christ. His hospitality was famous and his heart was known to be pure. No one could steal from this old man, for he considered no possession his own, and while thieves sometimes left the place with items pillaged from the sanctuary, the priest never grew concerned: he had given everything to God and knew that these people needed such items more than the church did.

Early one evening in the middle of winter, while the priest was praying before the cross, there was a  loud and ominous knock on the cathedral door. The priest quickly got to his feet and went to the entrance, as he knew it was a terrible night and reasoned that his visitor might be in need of shelter.

Upon opening the door he was surprised to find a terrifying demon towering over him with large, dead eyes and rotting flesh. 

"Old man," the demon hissed, "I have traveled many miles to seek your shelter. Will you welcome me in?"

Without hesitation, the priest bid this hideous demon welcome and beckoned him into the church. The evil demon stooped down and stepped across the threshold, spitting venom onto the tiled floor as he went. In full view of the priest, the demon proceeded to tear down the various icons that adorned the walls and rip the fine linens that hung around the sanctuary, while screaming blasphemy and curses.

During this time, the priest knelt silently on the floor and continued in his devotions until it was time for him to retire for the night.

"Old man," cried the demon, "where are you going now?"

"I am returning home to rest, for it has been a long day," replied the kindly priest.

"May I come with you?" spat the demon. "I too am tired and in need of a place to lay my head."

"Why, of course," replied the priest. "Come, and I will prepare a meal."

On returning to his house, the priest prepared some food while the evil demon mocked the priest and broke the various religious artifacts that adorned his humble dwelling. The demon then ate the meal that was provided and afterward turned his attention to the priest.

"Old man, you welcomed me first into your church and then into your house. I have one more request for you: will you now welcome me into your heart?"

"Why, of course," said the priest. "What I have is yours and what I am is yours."

This heartfelt response brought the demon to a standstill, for by giving everything the priest had retained the very thing that the demon sought to take. For the demon was unable to rob him of his kindness and hospitality, his love and compassion. And so the great demon left in defeat, never to return.

What happened to that demon after this meeting with the elderly priest is anyone's guess. Some say that although he left that place empty-handed he received more than he could ever have imagined.

And the priest? he simply ascended the stairs, got into bed and drifted off to sleep, all the time wondering what guise his Christ would take next. 

From The Orthodox Heretic and Other Impossible Tales, by Peter Rollins.

Ch, ch, ch, Changes...!

Since I last posted on this blog, lots has changed in my life. I loved living in Houston and working at the Central Public Library there, but my sweet papa got cancer (he was diagnosed in February 2013) and so we returned to Tyler a lot to visit more regularly, and discovered that our most beloved connections were in East Texas. By November, we were planning our move home. We did not make it back before Papa passed away, but I did get to come home and spend time with him on the weekend prior.

After getting back, I tried to stay home with Anna Kate again, but this time it didn't feel as sweet or as accepted. That might have been just feelings inside of me, but I kept looking for work--I wanted something as amazing as HPL, but there are slim pickings in Tyler for someone with as much useless education as me. Fortunately, my friend Brandon had my back; he was able to arrange a job for me at the non-profit he had recently begin working for. I took the position of Community Coalition Coordinator with Next Step Community Solutions, and learned so much about all that goes into attempts to change policies and practices on the community, environmental level. It is a difficult position because it requires that you work to put things in place that will impact communities and sub-communities, and it is hard to get all of the right people to join together to make the right changes.

While I was there, I built another blog that storehoused prevention data and information, and another website that basically dressed up the blog. When I wrote, that is the blog that I worked on.

The best part about that work was it has meaning. It is an uphill struggle (mostly against the ignorance of normal people, who offer alcohol and off-use prescription drugs to the kids in their lives), but it is an important struggle. The other best part was that I got to work closely with Brandon Davidson, who is one of my favorite people. He has this mind that just amazes me, though it also pushes him to do way too much all of the time.

Anyway, I got the chance to return to teaching just before school began again this past August. I am teaching 9th Grade Humanities at the Brook Hill School in Bullard, a private, Christian, college prep school. This is a job that challenges me every day. I like working directly with my students and hope to continually improve as a teacher. Perhaps I will write on this blog a bit more frequently, now, and I can share some of what it is like to teach 14-year-olds!

Who knows what is next?!