port-man-toe

Portmanteau, pronounced, port-man-toe. The combining of two things to make something new.

I live near the Rickwood Caverns, named from the combining of the owners’ names, Rickles -Rick and Arwood -Wood. Rickwood. I first became aware of that when my son, Shelton, spent several summers being a tour guide for the aforementioned Caverns. It was one such day he came home claiming he was asked what a portmanteau was, it was after he’d given a tour of the caverns when he was asked what the word meant. 

“What’d you say? ” I asked.

In his flat matter-of-fact tone he replied, “I told him it’s when you take two words to make a new word.” I asked what the man’s response was, “He said grassy-ass.”

A couple of summers ago the historic Rickwood Field had been in the news. I had seen it on the television of the local Mexican joint, written on the side of a Chevy I passed on the way to work several mornings.

Rickwood field, also a portmanteau incidentally from A. H. “Rick” Woodward’s name. To my knowledge the Rickwoods aren’t related but in an interesting way they’ve come to intersect in my home, in my mind, and in my heart. 

Two summers ago there was a televised opportunity to watch the opening portion of the Rickwood Field hosting a MLB game. 

I watched as faces of all colors were recognized in a place that once separated them by color, by race claiming equality but separated, an oxymoron if ever there was one.

Same but not the same.

Absurdity at its finest.

I watched and I began to cry, sob actually, at the beauty of the restoration, the recognition of the African- American Ball players who did more for humanity and equality by playing a game than their lighter skin counter-parts were doing in office.

I watched through my tears as beauty danced and sang and honored those gone, and those that remain, like a 101 year old Greason, baseball player turned preacher.

I watched as the late Willie Mays was honored and I cried when his son acknowledged that Willie was watching and encouraged the crowd to cheer. I told my people that maybe Willie knew he could go to Heaven knowing that Birmingham was getting it right this time. 

As I watched I looked to my left and saw my own brown skinned beauties smiling and dancing and I gave thanks again, for it has not been lost on me that in another time in this very same place they could not have been my children.

And I sobbed out of gratitude for all those unknown and unseen people who paved the way for the combining of two things to make a new thing, my family.

My very own portmanteau.

Recognition, reconciliation, redemption and Rickwood at its finest.