Frederee and “The Help”

I wrote a blog about my relationship with Frederee, who worked for my family as a domestic, and a friend suggested I read “The Help.” I did and I loved it. I also just saw the movie. It brought up a lot of thoughts and feelings for me.

Meaning no disrespect to my parents—my closest relationship was with Frederee. She was my rock. Was my mom too burned out to raise me? Was the fact that my parents’ marriage was troubled the issue? I’ll never know. But I bet Frederee knew. She never told me. She just filled the gap—with love, attention, laughter, and home cooking. She didn’t have to. She chose to. And our relationship lasted well beyond her working years. We were close until she passed away at age 95.

“The Help” tells the story of working as a domestic from the maids’ point of view. It made me wonder what Frederee’s hopes and dreams were and why she chose what she called “domestic work.” What was her school life like? I bet she made good grades. Did she want to go to college? What factors drove her choices? Did she feel that she had choices? I wonder these things more than what her job was like for her. I think she could have been like Oprah. She was interested in people, had a way of getting to the heart of a matter, she could lead, and she was decisive. She didn’t take any crap, but she was not combative. She said the way to earn respect was to give it. And she could sing. I think she would have been a marvelous actress. Or talk show host. Or CEO. Or all of them.

Did she settle? Many people do, like Jimmy Stewart in “It’s a Wonderful Life.” You get the cards God gives you and play them the best you can. Just like the guitar player who lays tile, the interior decorator who works as an administrative assistant, the singer who teaches, and the songwriter who writes book descriptions. Did we settle? Did we get in our own way? Were we happy with our Plan B?

I don’t know what Frederee felt her choices were. She said she felt blessed, that she enjoyed her work, and she had a wonderful life. My mom was good to her. Her job was relational. She wasn’t rich, but she bought her own home. She invested her life in mine. Much of who I am came from her leadership, advice, encouragement, admonishment, and the role model that she was. She was my Oprah before Oprah became a household name.

“The Help” included many points of view, including the perspective of the child raised by a maid. Through my eyes, Frederee was not an employee, she was my family. When a boy in my class made a disparaging remark about “black people,” I got in his face. I think Frederee was family to my mom too. They used to play the piano and sing together. When my mom got sick following my parents’ divorce, Frederee stayed by her side in the bedroom and held my mom’s hand while she cried. She continued to work for my mom after I moved away and there were no kids in the house. Frederee retired after my mom remarried. She said, “I can retire now that I got you married off.” And Frederee was with my mom in the hospital a few days before my mom passed. Frederee continued as my “bonus mom” until she passed away seven years later—after she “got me married off” too.

“The Help” showed me the ugly side – the prejudice, how mean people can be, pettiness, and seeing others as “less than.” It’s not ok to limit another human being’s freedom or hurt their dignity. It’s not ok to disrespect someone because of their color. Frederee used to say “beauty is only skin deep, but ugly’s to the bone.” There will always be ugliness in people. Racial prejudice is one of many forms. I almost felt embarrassed to be white. It’s demeaning to see being beautiful and catching a rich husband depicted as what women should strive for. Yet there was some of that in my upbringing. My mom actually said, “Don’t marry someone who will help you with the chores. Marry someone who will get you someone to do the chores.”

Well, I still don’t like chores. But I respected Frederee’s work. I repeat her many wise sayings, like “Love many, trust few, learn to paddle your own canoe.” She shaped my life. She made a difference. She helped me become a better human being. Sounds a lot like Oprah.

Mountain Ministers

How do you feel when someone talks down to you – a boss, a spouse, or a colleague? In a pastor, it is especially grievous, as humility is a characteristic he is supposed to value. But sometimes a pastor or “religious person” can come off “holier than thou,” which is a real turn-off as well as not representative of the ultimate Spiritual Leader. It’s true that Jesus did not sin. But he did have troubles. I’d call an angry mob publicly killing you a real problem. He had haters and he still does. He was human with real emotions. He had empathy for hurting people, he suffered loss, and he wept. He didn’t belong to a country club, drive a fancy donkey, or own a big home. I never read about him vacationing in Tahiti. He talked to anyone and lived modestly.

Unlike him, we all fall short of perfection. I certainly do. Whether it’s a little thing like thinking mean thoughts about someone or a big thing like betraying a friend, my scorecard is lengthy. When I got divorced and it was largely my fault, I thought my days as a Christian musician were over forever. I had no business representing the Lord. I was blessed when a good friend said to me, “I don’t want a perfect minister. I want a minister who has been through stuff like I have.” I guess that means someone else who sinned. Um, like pretty much everyone.

I certainly don’t find fault with someone who has managed to avoid sinning better than I have. But those who have been through what I have can show me how to recover, because they have. I also think that once you’ve lost everything you’re less likely to rebound into your formerly arrogant self. You don’t have to choose humility anymore because it chose you. If it were easy to do the things we know are right, we would not need the teachings of Jesus, which include contrition, repentance, and forgiveness. Churches are not museums for saints: they are hospitals for sinners. Sin is like heartbreak: you’ve either just been through it, are going through it now, or you’re about to go through it. It’s ongoing.

I guess by choosing a pastor who has lost everything by his own transgressions and rebuilt his life from the ground up, I could be hedging my bets that he won’t go through it again for awhile. But mostly, I feel he understands imperfect me. And he has compassion, as do I, because of our painful experiences. He talks to his flock face to face. He’s not on the mountain. He’s on his knees. That’s the kind of minister I want.