Mr. Johnny

     Sometime next week one of the hardest working men in the city of Milledgeville will report to the Medical Center for valve replacement surgery. I call him “Mr. Johnny” and have for close to twenty years, even though he’s only a couple of years older than me. You will find him working the yards at various houses throughout town, cutting scrubs, felling trees, raking, fixing up flower beds and doing all manner of yard-work. He simply never stops. His energy has always been amazing and the same can be said of the way in which he goes about his work. Always a smile, a wave, or if you see him and stop to talk, he’ll do that too. He fell out of one of those trees a few years ago, spent time in the hospital and was back at work soon after.
     “Mr. Johnny” asked me to pray for him the other day when we were talking about his surgery…I have… and will, expecting him to be just fine when he recovers. Truth is; His prayers probably carry a lot more weight than mine. What’s that biblical saying from James, “The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much?”

     You see, this “Mr. Johnny” happens to be one of those African Americans we see each day, doing those things that make our lives better, not the ones that seem to make the news in negative ways. I’ve known “Mr. Johnnies” all my life growing up in the south and unfortunately they get a bad rap based on the misdeeds of a few. Sort of like when some serial killer or Unabomber turns out to be white and male.

     Where would we be without these folks who, for whatever reason, seem to work without ceasing, making, in many cases, minimum wage on jobs few of us can do? I guess that’s why I call him “Mr. Johnny”. It’s just a way of saying, thanks and you have my respect. As a white male nothing infuriates me more than being stereotyped. I find this happening more often because of one, being a “baby boomer” (we’re spoiled) two, a senior (we can’t tie our shoes and shouldn’t ride motorcycles) three, a NASCAR fan (you must drive a truck and chew tobacco) and other stuff that thinking about is raising my blood pressure.

     Now, I don’t have anything against folks who want to chew and drive trucks, that’s just not my thing. So I can imagine (yes) the feelings of the African American community, or any group of people, when we put them in a box, give it our seal of approval and write off an entire race of people. Do I suffer from a bit of guilt from past deeds, you might ask? I can only say I wish things had been different.

     Kathryn Stockett’s book entitled, “The Help” did bring back a lot of memories. If you are over fifty you will be reminded of the “help” your parents may have had at the hands of a “Mr. Johnny” or a maid who came to do laundry or clean once a week. We were pretentious enough to have those around us believe we received the “help” as one would a member of one’s family. How good of us. They knew better.

     The truth is, as much as it hurts, I remember Anna May, mom’s help. How well she was treated by my family, with respect and all but remembering as well, that she never could feel as though she were a member of my family because my family didn’t hang out with her family. Things will be better when we can look at a “Mr. Johnny” and appreciate his contribution as another member of God’s family.

 On another note; I’m very glad we got ol’ what’s his name, but not surprised. After all, we’re Americans, and we keep our word, even to the least of us.