Collards, Hoppin’ John, Corn Bread and the Truth

My husband went to The Citadel, in Charleston South Carolina, a military school… “A bastion for the insecure,” he likes to joke, but I knew him then and I also know not everyone has the metal to make it through four years at a place like that. I have always been proud of him for what he did there, what he endured there and what he found out about himself during his time at The Citadel. “Oaks grow strong in contrary winds and diamonds are made under pressure…..” It certainly has been true of my husband as he has tackled some incredibly daunting things in his life.

In any case, part of the Citadel’s honor code goes something like, “A Cadet will not lie, cheat, steal nor tolerate those who do.” An intrinsic part of this code included an ‘intent to deceive’ – – not only the black and white areas of truth but all the dress gray in between. Growing up I was a master of the “technical truth…” It didn’t bother me then, I could always find a way to justify it to myself. And then life happened; I got to experience some pretty colossal failures and after finding myself facing real defeat on many levels in my mid-twenties, I set my life, very intentionally, on a new and different track. For me, the years that followed that decision were my time of “contrary winds and pressure,” and they served me well. During those years, it became very important to me that I regain the trust I had lost and earned the right to became trustworthy again. So all the gray areas of truth had to be erased in my life. And perhaps truer than any other part of that mission would be a willingness to eradicate any intent to deceive in my life – – the very thing the Citadel honor code addressed.

During that time, I was working in New York for a woman who had a day-time television program. I was in charge of her advertising, promotion and station relations with the 160-odd stations on which her syndicated program ran. I had an ad agency in LA produce our radio spots for ratings periods, and a print-ad agency on retainer in Chicago who handled all national advertising while our local staff produced all our on-air spots. The woman who hosted the show was a New York comedienne who had a particularly quick and sharp wit. She was also unafraid to ask questions others would never consider appropriate. One of the campaigns the print agency in Chicago came up with for us was the star of the show, arms uplifted, the New York Skyline rising behind her, with the tag line, “It’s my party and I’ll pry if I want to.” It captured the essence of both who she was and what the show was about perfectly. I loved that campaign and in the early years of the show, I had the proof framed and put on my office wall.

Well, one night, there was a young man who came to the office to pick me up to hear his band play downtown. And I found myself wanting to impress him. He went over the artifacts in my office with interest and when he read the ad on my wall, he laughed out loud, and asked, “Did you come up with that yourself?” And I did it. Without hardly missing a beat, I said yes. The moment I said it I regretted it, but there was no way out. O.k., there was a way out, but it wasn’t going to be easy – – particularly with a boy with whom I just shared an all-too-rare first date.

I called him the next day and through tears of embarrassment came clean. It was a call that may not seem like much but it was really hard for me, and is still great incentive to stick close to the truth.

But last night, more than 25 years later, I did it again. I intended to deceive…why? Does it matter? I wanted to impress. I didn’t want to look less than what it appeared I might be. Dilute, dilute, dilute….pride. It was my turn to make supper for our book club night and as the week wore on, and it became clear that I was woefully behind on pulling this off as I had hoped, I called Margaret at Margaret’s Soul Food Kitchen to help me think about what I could do about creating an authentic Southern dinner that would have epicurean roots that reaches all the way back to the 19^th Century. Margaret was wonderful. Really wonderful. She had one of the biggest Bible’s I have ever seen sitting beside her register and when I remarked on how lovely that was, she told me, “If you are going to be in business for yourself, you better have at least one of these,” and then looking at me she added, “and I usually have one out there for the folks I am serving too.”

It might have done me good to glance at John 8:31-32 before I served my book club the incredible meal Margaret put together. But that evening, I found myself NOT telling anyone that the collards, Hoppin’ John, and the iron skillet corn bread were her creation. (I don’t even have an Iron Skillet)

At dinner that night, Don asked me if the cornbread was cooked in a skillet. “Yup.” Beth asked me if there was vinegar in the Collards, “Just a little.” And Keith asked about the Hoppin’ John and I found myself evading. Brian told me how good the collards were and Olivia said something to the effect of “How do you do all this?” And I didn’t take a single one of those wide-open opportunities to point to Margaret, the best chef in town. I answered as “honestly” as I could and then changed the subject.

And then when I woke up with the dogs at four in the morning I couldn’t fall back to sleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that I intended to deceive. The “Why?” of it all. Well, I could call it a lot of things, but really it’s just pride.

I want to be better than I am. But I am enough. It’s not about what I do, it’s about how I go about doing it. With decency and honor – -the kind of honor that includes an intent to be transparent which is the core of honesty, and a necessary ingredient to being truly trustworthy. The nothing-to-hide kind of honesty leaves me free. The intent to deceive, the “technical truth” binds me to lies, a bondage that is never worth any degree of deception.

With every opportunity I passed by to tell the truth, it became more difficult to come clean. My husband thought Soul Food was a great idea and didn’t bat an eye when I threw in the towel at the end of the week and called Margaret. He did bat an eye however when, right before the meal, I said, “Do I have to tell everyone I didn’t make it?” I nicknamed my husband Captain America – – and for no shortage of good reason. He lifted an eyebrow and I knew exactly what his answer was. But to his credit, he has always let me make my own mistakes and has never been one to strong-arm his way in my life – – even when it’s the right way. It allows me my own path, but it is a freedom I cherish, and an independence that ultimately leads to growth, however ungraceful.

Looking back at the whole night, not only did God give me multiple off-ramps, but he also gave me fair warning – -like a Bible by the cash register and my husband’s words of caution. And nowhere in that process, if I had taken an exit, would it have cost me an ounce of pride or trustworthiness. But I let it roll. I held fast. If this event had been the downing of a small plane, there would have been an entire escalation of avoidable errors that would point to the ultimate crash and burn. All I needed to do was eject.

My dad always told me life never changes in huge swaths, it changes, by degrees, so that we can continue to fool ourselves saying “It wasn’t that bad.” But unchecked those small changes take a life completely off course. He told me you have to constantly correct your course and be vigilant about your heading in life, to stay true. Veering from the truth, in whatever degree, is a dangerous thing for me, and no matter how humbling it is to get back on track immediately, in the long run, it’s worth it and it is the only fix to realigning my trajectory with God’s. I don’t know where God is taking me in this life, but I know it’s on a path taken one step at a time and clearly marked by the truth.

25 years ago, it was really embarrassing to tell William, the night after seeing just how cool he was behind the microphone, that I had not come up with the creative aspect of the ad on my wall he had found so funny. REALLY hard.

25 years later, it’s going to be really hard to tell my bookies, that I didn’t make the collards, Hoppin’ John or Cornbread. But that impulse to deceive – – to create myself as something I am not – – never less, always more – – is not something that leads to freedom. The truth, in its multifaceted whole, is what leads to true freedom. And being who I am, no more, no less has got to be good enough. I have enough baggage in life, I don’t need to be filling up a bag full of intent-to-deceive to drag around with me at this age and stage.

And it’s worth the embarrassment of coming clean after the fact. I know I will be cringing tomorrow, but I guarantee when the dogs get me up at 4 in the morning again, I will fall right back to sleep after I take them out and give them a bone.

I am sorry my bookies, that I wanted you to think I had made that scrumptious meal. I may call for help in the future, when it’s my turn to cook, but I will never take credit for it again. And I deserve all the teasing I am going to get. Love you.

And for the best Soul Food in Alexandria, Virginia, please Call Margaret’s Soul Food at (703) 608-9226. She is amazing, AND
she caters!