We Were On It. And We Still Are

I remember the felt circles we played with at the Green Circle meeting back in the 1960s. I still love the rough, floppy felt. We sat on the floor, faces upturned to the undeniable authority of mothers with a portable easel. Maybe it was the settlement house in Cleveland—an important hub. Let’s say yes. They drew green concentric circles showing our relationship to each other, cascading out from each of us individually—cascading out from me! Inhaling now along my timeline, I smell lipstick—my mom’s orange-red smile, other people’s moms and grannies, even the trio of spinsters on our happy block. I hadn’t met the artist yet, but I was already looking out for him and all the other adventures that were coming.

Everywhere we went, we ate graham crackers, always dull until the milk arrived—quick! Only seconds until it melts into a useless, limp mess. We felt like echoes; we felt like firelight. We discovered what we already knew: we are connected. Interconnected, I suppose, but we didn’t know that word, wouldn’t have said it. We danced it. We drank it. We giggled. We knew we were loved, and we knew our firelight, star-circle dancing could protect the world—all the circles of circles: the Sunday peace vigil at the square, folks chaining themselves to warships, movies at the big church, Hiroshima—yikes—yes—storefront churches singing, “Whoa oh, deep in my heart, I do believe…”

Blessing, anger, playgrounds ringed with broken glass, tall, tall fences with barbed wire. We knew we were in that number; we knew we wanted it. We went marching in.

Clear as day. Public Square. Bobby socks, saddle shoes, and licorice whips. We sang: “Oh Lord, I want to be in that number when Urban Kids go marching in.” Other people’s candy. The river caught fire. When did that happen? Pollution was no problem; we were on it. We’ll do this—the moms—we would comfort the people coming back from the war; we would overcome; we were doing it.

I am still at it.
I am still in love with my neighbors.
I still get comfort and joy from holding hands with the ghosts of the present and the ghosts of the past. I miss them. And even as I long for the others, I can feel them with me.

It’s a love thing.

Clear as mud.
Steady as a spinning top.

I am humming along,
from inside the 21st century,
loving the marchers.
Loving the beat.

Author’s Note:
In 1957, social worker Gladys Rawlins founded the Green Circle Program (GCP) to promote intergroup understanding and self-worth. “Urban Kids” was a program within GCP’s activities at camps and playgrounds in downtown Cleveland. A 1990 Los Angeles Times article documents the program’s early impact.