As much as I’m an advocate of meditative silence, silence in the face of injustice?  Um, no.  That was something I learned to hate growing up.

Whenever someone did something my mother didn’t like, she would purse her lips and turn away.  She had been raised to believe that a lady did not stir things up.  She didn’t do anything that might make someone else uncomfortable or upset.  She simply endured.

Was this why I chose to hang with the men in our family?  Maybe so.

However it came about, I’m glad I learned a thing of two from my grandad. In his liquid Mississippi drawl, he’d set about explainin’ why something just wasn’t right.  “Well, you know what my own daddy said to me…”

I’d love to say that I’m as smooth and self-assured as Grandad.  Maybe it would help if I borrowed one of his own lines and modified it a bit. “Well, you know what Our Father has to say …”

I might just give it a try.  Because, you know, silence really is not an option.