“Now, let’s see … I had a few facts for you.… Oh, here’s a timely one … a fun fact about the Christmas poinsettia. Poinsettias come to us all the way from Mexico. A man named Joel Robert Poinsette brought them to South Carolina and hence the name … and we are mighty glad he did. But don’t forget, they are poisonous, so don’t eat them or let your pets chew on them.…”
Late that afternoon, Dorothy, Anna Lee, and Bobby met Doc downtown at the Rexall and they all walked over and picked a tree out from the vacant lot where the Civitan Club was selling them. At home Mother Smith was popping corn and all the Christmas decorations had been dug out of the attic, the back closet, and the cedar chest in the hall and were ready to go. By ten o’clock that night, cream-colored cardboard candleholders with blue lights were in every window, and a string of red cut-paper letters that said MERRY CHRISTMAS hung over all the doors. The tree in the corner was covered with satin balls of apple green and shiny ruby red and blue ones with white frosted stripes around them, silver tinsel, strings of popcorn and colored lights, and an angel with wings at the very top. A white sheet wrapped around the bottom was ready and waiting for presents.
As usual, Dorothy was the last one up and as she stood in the dark living room, the glow of the Christmas lights looked so pretty, she didn’t have the heart to turn them off and decided to leave them on all night.
Dena Digs at Diggers
New York City
1975
Dena went back to her doctor, and her ulcer had not gotten much better but it was no worse so she promised to continue seeing Diggers. She hated to keep talking about herself but she would do anything to avoid the dreaded prescription “bed rest.”
In Dr. Diggers’s office, she sat, as usual, kicking her foot. The doctor had been waiting for her to say something and, as usual, it made Dena uncomfortable. Finally, Dena said, “All right, if you’re not going to ask me anything, I’ll analyze you. At least one of us will get something out of this.”
“We are here to talk about you.”
“Let’s don’t. Please, I’m so sick of talking about myself, thinking about myself; please, let’s talk about you for a change. Tell me all about you. You look like an interesting person.”
Diggers looked at the clock. Five more minutes left. She was not going to get anything more out of Dena today. “OK, I’ll humor you. What do you want to know?”
Dena’s eyes lit up. “Ahh, let’s see.” She rubbed her hands together. “OK, what is it like to be black?”
Diggers smiled. White people always thought that was the most important thing about her. She put her pen down. “That’s a question that has as many answers as there are black people. Each person experiences it differently.”
“Well, I don’t know any other black people. What is it like for you?”
“I do believe I’m being interviewed.”
“No, you’re not. I’m just curious. I really would like to know.”
“What do you think it’s like?”
Dena shook her finger at her. “Oh, no, you are not going to trap me, Dr. Elizabeth Diggers, M.D., Ph.D., or whatever you are. All you shrinks are alike; you always answer a question with a question. Would you rather not discuss it, or is it too sensitive an issue?”
“No, of course not.”
“Have white people done terrible things to you?”
“I’ve earned my stripes. I’ve had my share of prejudice.”
Dena winced. “Oh, God, I’m sorry you had to go through that. Are you angry about it?”
“Angry? No, but I understand anger. I would say hurt more than anything. And when I say prejudice, I mean across the board. Prejudice can do terrible things to all human beings, and black people can be just as intolerant with one another as white people.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes—I’ve had to put up with it from white people and from my own people as well.”
“Really, like what? Give me an example.”
“Well, there are those who call me an Uncle Tom because I have white friends and live in a white neighborhood. Accuse me of trying to be white.” She laughed. “Me, as black as I am, there is no way I’m ever going to be white, right? Now, there are some that think I should give up my career and devote my life to helping the cause of the black man. Light blacks think I’m too black, some blacks think I talk too white; it never ends. No matter which way you turn there is always somebody at you.” She suddenly smiled. “Next I’ll be breaking into a chorus of ‘Ol’ Man River,’ won’t I? But I have a lot more problems than merely being black.”
Dena said, “You mean your—”
“That I’m in a wheelchair? Yes, but besides the fact that my patient is trying to analyze me, the fact that I’m a female in a male profession has been my biggest problem. I’ve experienced a lot more prejudice because I’m a woman than I ever have because I’m black. Don’t forget, black men got the vote in this country long before any women, black or white, and men are men, no matter what color they are. It could drive you crazy if you let it.”