Westboro to Picket Maya Angelou's Funeral? I Say Yes

It was with no surprise that I read reports that the Westboro Church have been calling for its members to picket the funeral of Dr. Maya Angelou.

Shocking? Yes. But here is my humble recommendation. Let them come.

This might be the closest many members of that Westboro family will be to grace. For some, this is the closest they will ever have been to true dignity.

Dr. Angelou is one of the few people on God’s planet who could have soothed such troubled souls. She is likely the only one who could have broken through the barriers of anger and hatred.

Who better to remind them of our common humanity? Who better to remind them of the beauty they abandon when they embrace bitterness and hatred? Dr. Angelou never begrudged anyone the feeling of anger. When pointed in the right direction, anger over true injustice can force change and move mountains of ignorance.

Who better to teach members of the church of hate than a woman who rose from what could, at best, be called difficulty? By the standards of many of the same people who now sit in judgment of the Westboro group, Maya Angelou was not supposed to ever amount to much. Her poise and persistence tamed them. Now their children honor her.

Their words, their signs, their hatred are a small beacon in the presence of the illuminating sunlight that still emanates from Dr. Angelou's memory. Nothing but the absence of humanity will erase the impact that Dr. Angelou has had on thousands upon thousands.

Let them come. Let them fight the windmills. Let them scream like the aimless army they have become. Meaningless screams do not equal a voice. It equals noise.

I may not have the honor or privilege to attend a memorial service to Dr. Angelou, but her words and her memory lift me up.

Let them come. I realize the risk is not to Dr. Angelou, but to the mourners who were so deeply touched by her work and her spirit. While we sometimes falter and allow words to cut deeply, Dr. Angelou’s passing reminds us that dignity and love are their own armor.

In her passing, we’re all fortunate now to feel her presence. Westboro cannot touch me. They cannot touch us.

Let them come, I say.

“Prejudice is a burden that confuses the past, threatens the future and renders the present inaccessible.” Dr. Maya Angelou.

Kings vs. Ducks, One Fan's Love Hate Relationship

For thousands of us hockey fans throughout Southern California, marginalized and beleaguered as we often feel, the Los Angeles Kings/Anaheim Ducks playoff series is the stuff of dreams.

 

"This highly anticipated Kings-Ducks playoff series will capture the excitement and the imagination of the most casual hockey and sports fan in Southern California in addition to our loyal, die-hard Kings fans," Kings President of Business Operations Luc Robitaille told NHL online.

Excitement? Maybe. For me it’s a nightmare. You see I am a die-hard Kings fan. But I was supposed to and deeply wanted to be a die-hard Anaheim fan.

The Ducks were supposed to be my team. But they are not. Right or wrong, petty or valid, I blame the old Duck ownership for this. My dislike of them comes from a deeply personal place.

Though I was born in Los Angeles, my family moved to Orange County when I was 1 ½.  In 1990 when I met my now husband, OC born and bred, he was a fan of the Kings, then the only So Cal hockey team. Though I was intrigued by the sport, thanks to the 1980 Winter Olympics, the boyfriend finally presented an opportunity to learn hockey.

He took me to my first game at the Great Western Forum. Kings vs. Redwings. And that was it. I was hooked.

So you can imagine our excitement in 1993 when they announced the arrival of a new team TO ORANGE COUNTY! Thank you Disney Company!

This would be our team! No more driving to Los Angeles! Finally, hockey in my home county.  It was GREAT! Until it wasn’t.

I can’t remember the first time I felt hesitation about the new team. I remember seeing Michael Eisner constantly discussing their “new project.” Then stories began to roll out about the company’s plan to, um, sanitize the sport.

There would be cheerleaders. There would be song and dance. Disney was going to attempt to transform what some saw as a violent sport into a family-friendly activity.

“You know it’s not always violent,” I remember telling my husband. By then Wayne Gretzky played for the Kings. He was amazing to watch even as he grew older. Graceful and skilled, he can count the number of times he’s been in a fight on one hand and have fingers left over.

“I know,” my hubby responded.

Then came the name.

Given all we knew about Disney’s plans, I prayed that Eisner would resist naming the team after the Disney children’s film “The Mighty Ducks,” released in 1992.

“That would make it a marketing tool wouldn’t it?” I asked my husband. You’re using the team to promote Disney as much as your using Disney to promote the team, I remember saying.

By then my husband and I were really hesitant.

Then came the announcement from Eisner that the name would indeed be the Mighty Ducks.

My heart sank.

Oh well right? It’s their team. They can do what they want. And for me, that’s the point. Most, if not all, sports teams ask fans to invest personally. This did not sound like it was going to be our team. Still, I thought, there was a chance I could connect with the team despite the immense PR machine.

Until the Iceman happened during the first regular season game. True to their word that they would make this a Disney-worthy production, Eisner and Co. brought us a character described by the Los Angeles Times as a man with “silver-faced, frazzle-haired looks and rock-till-you-drop demeanor.” It was a disaster.

My resentment grew. By then I felt disconnected from the Mighty Ducks and turning more toward the team that had first taught me to love hockey. LA hockey then was nothing fancy. It wasn’t as if the arena was bursting at the seams with people. Even the bathrooms at the Forum were difficult to deal with.

But they were my team. I thought I’d just root for the Kings quietly. But then came the merchandise.

A tidal wave of family and friends started buying Duck’s merchandise. It wasn’t anything other teams hadn’t already been exploiting, ie. the teal wearing San Jose Sharks. But this marketing avalanche was intense. Lettermen jackets, duck calls, duck masks. And the hockey sweaters? Eggplant and teal with an innovative diagonal strip never before seen on a hockey jersey. A trend was begun.

The marketing blitz was far from unusual, but this one seemed unparalleled. This feeding frenzy was almost an embarrassment of riches especially after running into a string of people in Mighty Ducks gear who could not name a single player on their team but remembered that Emilio Estevez was in the movie.

A sense of snobbery took over and I was done. In my heart, I knew this would never become my team.

Despite all this my other Orange County friends were undeterred. Several kept us up to date on efforts to start a booster organization. Complaints began after, according to our friends, the team’s ownership did not welcome their efforts. I don’t know if they ever did.

According to friends, they were told thanks but no thanks.

Then Ducks coach Ron Wilson opened his mouth. Since the Mighty Ducks were not an option, I had turned to roller hockey and the Anaheim Bullfrogs. I’m showing my age here. They were fun. It was a simple, fun, indoor roller hockey game. I was a huge fan of goalie Rob Laurie. And we were good. Unlike the Ducks (and the Kings) they brought home a championship. A Roller Hockey International championship. A banner was hung at the Pond.

Ron Wilson didn’t like it. He wanted the banner down.

“What’s the problem?” my annoyed husband said at the time. “What’s the harm in the banner? If he hates it, why doesn’t he win a cup so he can replace it?”

As if all of that was not enough, in 2002, the Angels (my team forever) had a special offer for fan Appreciation Day. We could trade our Angels ticket stubs for a Mighty Ducks preseason game ticket. They were playing the Kings.

My sister and I attended the hockey game. As we walked from the Big A to the Pond, I watched several fans along the way stop at their vehicles and change out of Angels jersey’s and into King’s sweaters.

Pre-season for either team in those days meant “good seats still available.” Still as the game got underway I found the Kings fans cheers equaled in decibels to the Duck fans. And the Kings were giving their fans a lot of reason to cheer at that game.

Am I bragging? No.

I was quiet while a Ducks fan behind us railed against what was happening and against a young Ducks player who seemed to be struggling out on the ice.

“Why the hell are there so many Kings fans here?” he asked as I flashed back to the scene in the Big A parking lot. “That’s pathetic.”

Referring to the young Duck on the ice, “He will NEVER own a home in Orange County. NEVER. He might as well pack now. He’ll never be a resident here.”

He repeated this several times. My sister, the man’s wife and I sat quiet and let his angry words echo out past us and to the empty seats surrounding our foursome. In some ways, this shaped my perception of a Ducks fan.

I attended one other Kings/Ducks game at the Pond and the experience was similar. I’ve not returned since. When the Ducks won the cup, I wished them well and followed none of the coverage. I still won’t.

But now here we are, at the series that Southern California hockey fans have long waited for. I can’t tell you how difficult it is because I do respect my friends who follow the Ducks. I adore Teemu Selanne who is a class act. But when I see that team, I know what’s comes with it. I brace for the exchange of insults. I have to fight the urge to show unreasonable emotion.

It might be accurate to say that my dislike for the Ducks is almost as much out of a personal sense of loss as it is from a sense of team/city pride. It still stings.

I am not going to switch allegiances. I am loyal. Actually I am a rabid Kings fan now. They say, “If you don’t like the team, you can leave.” Except now they’re in our house. And I feel forced to relive so much of what made me turn away from a team I so desperately wanted.