The South

I
At 13, I was confirmed in the Episcopal Church. With my catechism classmates, I knelt at the altar rail, head-bowed, and waited my turn. When the giant in white robes appeared, I steeled myself, knowing from previous experience that the Bishop was huge, with large hands and manly strength. He pressed his hand on my head in blessing -- pushing me into the cushion, the wood, the floor.
I felt the imprint of his Bishop's ring.

II
My mother loved Bishop Carpenter, had long loved him. I never knew exactly why; she died before I was old enough to ask. I wish I could ask her now.

III
I didn't realize until I was an adult that he was one of the religious signatories to the published response to Martin Luther King Jr.'s famous "Letter from a Birmingham Jail." (Even though I was a young Birmingham teenager when it appeared in the Birmingham News, I don't remember even being aware of it then.) When I first read the names, among whom many were familiar, I was shocked, but I'm not sure why. I should have known. I didn't, and I was disappointed.

IV
Today, after dropping off a book at the library, I wandered next door to the University Archives. There, I walked through an exhibit titled "Founded to Make Men: Explorations of Masculinity at the University of the South," organized by a your graduate  (class of 2015) and a history professor (of American studies and history). I hadn't planned to see the exhibit, but I am glad the weather pushed me inside, for there, I experienced another shock. This time a good one.

Panels placed Sewanee honestly (admirably in its honesty) within a complex history of its milieu: southern, white, privileged, male, paternalistic. For once, I felt a personal sense of connection because I have long lived and been witness to much of what I read about race, sport, manliness, and homosexuality. And there was, of course, the surprise of the Bishop, pictured with a Vice-Chancellor opposed to integration and later to admission of women. (I should have known.)

V
At home, looking out at the dying fire of sunset through my screen of trees in lines of fore-, middle-, background, I finally had a sense of personal connection to a place where I am otherwise a stranger.