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What would you do if you had this letter and wanted to maximize the chances that it got read by the intended recipients?
“Dear Brothers and Sisters,
This is a simple love letter which simply cannot express my utter gratitude and my respect to you all, for the many years of joy, humor, insight, chills, and a list of immeasurables that have shaped my life, because of you.
This letter is more than 25 years overdue.
A lot has happened in that quarter of a century, growing up from child to teenager to adult and all the highs and lows in between. During that whole time, you all have remained a constant source of light and inspiration. From the moment I picked up an autobiography by a man named Malcolm X at the high school library, I was never really the same. My way of thinking and how I viewed the world changed after I read that book. And so it began.
I remember when Harold Washington became Chicago’s first black mayor. I was so proud and wore my 1988 Mayor Washington T-shirt every chance I could, all the while listening to racist Chicagoans calling into radio stations expressing their hatred for Washington and fear of a black city. I remember the glorious day Nelson Mandela was freed from his jail cell in South Africa. Crying tears of joy for him and tears of rage for those who put him there, the brutal system that was still in place in that country. I remember reading of Harriet Tubman, of Fredrick Douglass, of the mind-numbing evil that was slavery and wishing so badly I could’ve been there to fight alongside John Brown. I identified with the militants more than the peacemakers, as anyone with a shred of passion sometimes does in youth.
I remember falling head over heels for the brothers in sports. The NBA, Olympics, baseball, and football. Lord have mercy I never paid at attention to sports before but soon memorized the vital and marital stats of the guys I was crazy about.
I remember the music of my childhood. Oh how I remember the radio, the record player always on at our house. My father, the ex-hippie Indian who emigrated to the U.S. in the 70’s, didn’t play Indian songs. No, my siblings and I grew up listening to the Commodores, Dionne Warwick, Smokey Robinson, the Gap Band, Donna Summer. Those songs, those voices, those lyrics will play over and over in my mind until the day I die. Funk, soul, R & B, jazz speak to my soul in a way no other music does. I remember the years of Michael Jackson–where do I begin– I will never get over that one.
Finally, for all those throughout the years–for a moment or those I call my friends– thank you for inspiring. For keeping it real, seeing through the bull, the double-talk, the phony, the fake. You have taught me, more than anything, that I don’t have to play the game, nor ever want to. Thank you for showing me that history and the past still matter. Community matters. Loyalty and love still matter. That beauty comes in all sizes and colors and forms. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for letting me come as I am. For putting the smile on my face, the beat in my steps and the strength to keep on keeping on. You are my people.
All my love,?Lia ”
If you would like to hear more about Lia’s story in her own voice just type “Lia” into the search box on our website under the radio shows page.
The Love Letter Squad can be reached at http://www.lovelettersquad.com Pay us a visit anytime you feel like it. We'd be delighted to hear from you.
And, if you can help get this letter to the Chicago general public we would be grateful, on Lia’s behalf, for the help or advice.
From me to you with love in the air,
Janet
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