R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Cruelty. Needless meanness. It's pretty popular these days. And much of it stems from a general lack of respect. Respect for our fellow human beings. Respect for those we judge to be below us. Respect for ourselves, honestly. Alina was someone others saw in a lowly light. If they'd taken time to get to know here, they'd see that her light shone as brighter than theirs.

Alina

If you want to establish the pecking order of any race or ethnic group,?ask yourself one simple question:

Who scrubs the toilets??

In 1924, when my grandmother came to America from Austria, she scrubbed the toilets.

Today, here in the office buildings of Dallas, it’s Latinas.

And when I lived in Chicago, it was Polish women.

Sacrificing their knees to polish the unforgiving terrazzo floors; reaching their hands into the infinite foulness of one toilet after another.

They tended to keep their heads down.

And their mouths closed.

Almost wishing they were invisible.

Often being treated as if they were.

The woman I remember best from my Chicago days was Alina.

And my best memory was her last day.

The Queen of the American Dream

At first glance, she didn’t strike me as a queen.

No, far from it. She struck me as tired.

Everything about Alina looked tired.

Very tired and saggy.

From the sagging skin draped beneath her eyes,

right down to the sagging pantyhose that?weakly clung to her legs like dying vines to a post.

Yet, every night, Alina and the other Polish cleaning ladies persevered.

Dragging their heavy, damp mops floor-to-floor, hallway to hallway.

As Alina emptied their trash, most people didn’t bother to acknowledge her.

Many took to mocking her behind her back.

Mocking her appearance.

Mocking her accent.

One person came to the agency Halloween party as Alina.

But maybe because I saw something of my grandmother?in her, we would chat. Or at least attempt to.

Thank goodness for Alina’s language skills.

As broken as her English was, she certainly?outpaced my absolute ignorance of Polish.

Still, it was pleasant.?

Alina seemingly enjoying our exchanges as much as I did.

Ending each one with a stilted, yet sweet,?GOOT-bye.

Goodnight!?I would respond. And that was that.

Until it wasn’t.

For one night, Alina unexpectedly followed my?goodnight?with,

No, goot-bye.

There was a finality to her voice, and I realized that Alina was leaving.

Did you get a new job??I asked.

No. My son, he finish medical school to-day.?

He say, Mama, never again you have to work.

Never ever!

Her words were filled with equal parts pride, joy and relief.

Turns out that Alina had good reason for her constant fatigue.

For years, she had been working not one, not two,?

but three different jobs to send her son thru school.

And now her son was a doctor.

I had no idea.?

I stood up and gave her a hug.?

We both teared up.

No, at first glance, she certainly didn’t strike me as a queen.?

But from that day on, no one has stood more noble and?majestic in my eyes than Queen Alina.

The Queen of the Queens

My name for Lina has always been Lady Bug.

We were together for 16 years.

Engaged for 15.

We still remain friends.

And always will.

In Austin, Lina was affectionately known as The Queen of the Queens. She was a regular at the gay bar, Rain, and very involved in HIV/AIDS related philanthropies.

When we moved to Dallas, she had to prove herself all over again to a whole new crowd. Eventually, she co-chaired a major event for Aids Interfaith

Network called Bloomin’ Ball.

As part of a pre-event, Lina had to give a short speech to

introduce herself and gin up some hype and ticket sales.

It’s all about the ticket sales.

Being a straight woman, and not being a known entity in the Dallas gay community, there was some curiosity about her.

For some, borderline doubt and misgivings.

She hadn't earned their respect, yet.

And since Lina doesn’t do a lot of public speaking, she was feeling a little uptight.

Maybe more than a little uptight.

Amplified doubly the day of the event.

But once introduced, Lina did her thing:

"I was 12 years old when I came to America from Bangladesh.

I wish I could tell you that things were always easy for me.

They weren’t.

You see, I was too dark for the white kids.

And too light for the black kids.

Then she held up her left hand, and pinched together her index finger and thumb.

Fortunately, I was just fabulous enough for the gay kids.

The whole place doubled over laughing.

You took me into your hearts.

You took me into your community.

And you took me out dancing.

Let’s all buy tickets for Blooming Ball, and let’s go dancing again."

Afterwards, Lina was swallowed up by the crowd.

This small, petite woman who had been questioned about her fit, fit in perfectly.

"You’re totally one of us", a new friend said while hugging her.

"You know what it’s like to be an outsider," said another.

Even her celebrity co-chair, former Good Morning America host, Ron Corning said, "I’ve been doing this a long time, and that’s as good as it gets."

When you share of yourself, you it leads to shared respect.

And from that moment on, Lina was part of their tribe.

And they have kept on dancing.

For themselves and others.

The Funky Drummer

It’s a long ways from Chattanooga, Tennessee, to Madison, Wisconsin.

Somewhere in-between, Clyde Stubblefield spent 6 revolutionary years defining funk, while traveling the world with the Godfather of Soul – James Brown.

Laying down beats that would compel Rolling Stone to name him "The Most Sampled Drummer of All-Time."

Six years that ended when the notoriously fiery and cheap Godfather of Soul left Clyde stranded in America’s Dairyland.126

But the man known as the Funky Drummer grew to enjoy the change of pace of the Heartland, and stayed the rest of his life.

It was in Madison where I paid Clyde and his 9-piece band to play my college fraternity on 3 different occasions.

His shows were sheer joy.

Pumping the air with classic booty shaking, house quaking songs like Cold Sweat, Mother Popcorn and Say It Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud.

The whiter than white audience had their overbites in overdrive.

Cancer finally caught up with Clyde in 2017.

He’d been fighting it for a number of years.

After the one and only Prince died in 2016, Clyde revealed that it was the Purple One himself who had paid many of his medical bills. Now that's respect.

Straight-up respect from the Mozart of Modern Pop.

And thanks to Kanye, Dr. Dre, LL Cool J, Run-DMC, the Beastie Boys, and literally a thousand others, the sound of the Funky Drummer beats on.

That's a Wrap!

Everyone has something to teach us. Everyone deserves our respect. And when we look to give it, we're more likely to get it.

Here's to Alina.

Here's to Lina.

Here's to Clyde.

Here's to respect.

Here's to the future!

P.S. If you're interested in the Navigating the Fustercluck podcast, you'll find it on Spotify and most other podcast platforms.