What do you see?

 

“The children were nestled all snug in their beds” on this warm evening in July 1979.  I was living with my then husband Fred and our two toddler sons in a small apartment that summer in Starkville, Mississippi where Fred and I were completing our doctoral degrees at Mississippi State University.  I had defended my dissertation that morning and had fallen asleep on the couch.  Fred was still up preparing for his defense the next day.  I felt a hand on my shoulder; Fred was shaking me.  “Jane, come look at this – please.” 

I sleepily responded and followed him to the open front door.  He pointed to the sky and said, “Tell me, what do you see?”

“Well, it looks like a flying saucer to me,” I said, confirming to him that he was not in a hallucinatory state from all the studying.  It, indeed, was a disk – with red lights circling around the edge – just stalled in the nighttime sky.  It hovered there for just a minute – then quickly took off into the galaxy – or somewhere.  “Okay – can I go back to sleep now?’ I asked.  I also added, “Now Fred, you know that we can never tell anyone about this. We are trying to get these degrees and keep our jobs and this would not help any of that.” He agreed.  I went up the stairs to our bed, and we rarely talked about it.  Years later, we did share with a few folks – but not many. 

What was that in the night sky? I told myself it was probably something the government was testing. With an Air Force base nearby in Columbus, Mississippi, this seemed like the most rational explanation. Still, I left open the possibility that it might have been something else.

Why am I sharing this 47 years later?  Because I can.  I’m retiring from my final job this summer, so I don’t have to worry about getting fired for mental delusions.  I’m also a 75-year-old great grandmother who hasn’t closeted much of anything in the latter half of my life – except this.  And now it’s time to let this go.  YES, I saw a UFO in the summer of 1979 in Starkville, Mississippi!  I’ll just count myself lucky that they didn’t beam me up. 

 

 

Sammy and Me - A Tribute

 

My high school boyfriend, Sammy Johnson, died on June 10.  This morning, I wrote down some memories.  Good memories. 

Sammy and Me

With my eyes closed, I try to remember the summer of 1965.  I was 14 years old and worked at my mom’s beauty shop during the summer.  She would let me leave early each day as things began to slow down some and I would walk to my favorite summer hangout spot – the Recreation Department on Fair Road.  There we would sit on the tables and talk and see what kind of adventures we might have together.  Sammy Johnson lived close by at the time and would ride up on his motorcycle.  And of course, I asked for a ride.  I climbed on the back, put my hands around his waist and off we rode.  And we kept on riding.  I liked it and I liked Sammy.  Sammy had no driver’s license at the time – but the cops seemed to let folks by if they looked old enough – or if they knew who your parents were.  My dad thought that I really liked motorcycles so bought me a little Honda of my own.  I, too, rode without a license following Sammy and his little gang all over town.  We would ride up to the top of Joe Hodges Hill – then turn around and speed down.  It’s a wonder that any of us lived through that summer, but we did.  What Daddy came to realize, though, was that it wasn’t just motorcycles that I liked – I liked being with Sammy.  We started school that fall and I was thrilled to cheer for him from the stands every Friday night.  When the offense was on the field, we would yell, “Run, Johnny run” – cheering on my neighbor, Johnny Cobb.  And when the defense came on the field, we yelled, “Kill Sammy Kill!”  Yes, we did.  And Sammy would knock those players down so hard, many had to have help getting back up.  The football players were given these little silver footballs on necklaces and Sammy gave me his.  That was better than a ring or bracelet.  It was something that was hard earned and had meaning behind it.  And I wore it proudly.  We didn’t just play hard that year though.  We studied hard as well.  We took drivers training together from Mr. Carr at Georgia Southern.  And more importantly, we were study partners for biology.  Sammy didn’t do well at all the first six weeks, so I invited him to start studying with me.  We would go down in the playroom at my house in Woodrow Avenue to study.  That room was converted to a playroom with a pool table after my mom moved her beauty shop downstairs.  We studied just about every night.  And since it was a playroom – well, we played a little as well.  That study partnership made a difference with both of us.  Sammy gives me credit for teaching him how to study and I give that situation credit for preparing me to be a good teacher. 

On the weekends, though, we rode those motorcycles.  I really preferred riding with him to riding on my own.  We would ride fast  -- especially when we went out to his family’s farm.  And then he would stop on some hidden roads and we would make out on the motorcycle.  It was a good place to do that because there’s only so much you can do on a motorcycle.  It never went any further. 

Being Sammy’s girl was thrilling.  It gave me the confidence to quit pledging the JTJ’s (a high school sorority that didn’t match who I was meant to be.)  But eventually, I began to realize that my association with Sammy was limiting my possibilities for other friendships.  Boys wouldn’t even talk to me in the hall.  If I’d come along they’d say, “Get away from me, you’re Sammy’s girl.”  I liked Sammy – a lot.  But I was not the type of girl to “BELONG” to anyone.  So, one night I gave him back his necklace.  Sometimes I regretted it, but we really were not going to make it.  We remained friends though, and both enjoyed cheering the Georgia Southern Eagles on to victory for many years.  He will always have a special place in my heart.  Ride, Sammy, Ride!

Blessing for Glynn Pride Celebration 2026

 

Beloved community, in this sacred gathering of rainbow pride colors, identities, and courageous love, we pause to bless this space, this day, and all who are here.   We call upon the spirit of life, known by many names and none, to be present among us—in the laughter of friends, in the strength of chosen family, in the beat of music that dares us to dance freely in our own skin.   May this Pride be a sanctuary in the open air—a celebration of truth, a protest against injustice, a homecoming for every soul who has ever been told they didn’t belong.   We bless the elders who paved the way, the youth who carry the torch forward, and every person who moves today in the name of love, liberation, and the fierce beauty of authenticity.   Here in Brunswick—on this land shaped by tides and resilience—may we be like the salt marsh: rooted, open, and alive with diversity.  May justice roll in like the sea, unstoppable and clear.   May this festival be safe, joyful, and bold. And may we remember that Pride is not just for today—but for every day we live into the truth that every body, every identity, every love is sacred.   Celebrate with Joy. Celebrate with courage. May Peace Be with us all. Amen and Blessed Be