Aah! What a disturbingly wonderful day I had yesterday. I did two performances in Cedar Springs, Michigan, a historically blue collar, farming town. Ethnically: Mostly hodge podge American white or Western European dissent; socioeconomically: very poor to middle class. I knew going into it that there would be tons of stories . . . I spent six years in a town somewhat similar to this one when I lived in Massachusetts. Bellingham! Oh, Bellingham! Wherefore art thou, oh Bellingham?

Bellingham was historically a mill town that sat on the Blackstone River. The people in my neighborhood were mostly blue collared workers, from the postman to the factory foreman, from the policeman to the construction worker, from the fireman to the woodsman; to our family. My dad was an engineer. On some theoretical, social level he had the most prestigious job of the lot . . . but, he was black. The first question he was asked when we moved into the neighborhood came from the postman (who later became very warm to my family): "Why do you people want to move into our neighborhood?!" -- Reminds me of a song -- "Oh, the postman is a person in your neighborhood . . ." Mr. Rogers, where were you then?

And in these neighborhood, lots of secrets happen behind closed or not-so-closed doors. Most of the kids I knew, including the Fowlin clan, were getting smacked around by their parents, and I don't mean the occasional spanking either. I mean punches and belts and brooms and walls. You get the picture. You didn't blink your eyes to this . . . and you didn't really talk about it either. It just was. It was normal. And there were the other secrets, too; the sexual ones. The secrets we never mentioned in broad daylight: the 10 year olds having sex with the 13 year olds; the boys with boys -- purely attempting to understand how boys are supposed to be with girls; the brothers with sisters; the fathers with daughters; the forced sex play of neighbors with neighbors; the 17 year old boy molesting the 11 year old boy. And the list goes on.

But back to Cedar Springs. Yesterday was a flashback of Bellingham. The many stories that were shared were disturbing in a way that I have not felt in a long time. So many kids who had been hurt. I probably spoke to at least 100 different kids in this high school, 95% had been abused in one form or another. Four separate girls spoke about their brothers forcing them to have sex. One girl got pregnant by her brother. She had an abortion at age 14. The other stories of fathers raping their daughters; girls pregnant at age 14, not knowing which of two guys was the father; seventeen year old girl pregnant with her second child -- so strong, so beautiful, wanting nothing more than her mother's approval and love. The physical abuse. Awful. Just awful. Is there hope for people who have suffered so much? Is there hope for them not to repeat similar patterns or be with men who resemble their perpetrators?

I spent the entire day just talking to people. I was emotionally exhausted, yet oddly, I felt satisfied. I had helped begin the healing process. I was deeply touched by all the stories, all the hugs, all the tears. I prayed with a group of students. We prayed for God's strength for a student who had to tell her parents that she had been repeatedly raped. And God wept. We were all bonded together by our stories of pain, and it was painfully beautiful.

So, thank you, Cedar Springs, Michigan. You have made my life more beautiful. You are BEAUTIFUL!