A Tale of Two Blankets: recognizing our nostalgic blindspots

 

A Tale of Two Blankets: recognizing our nostalgic blindspots

This is a Sermon I gave online to the 

Unitarian Universalist Church of Brevard on 2/7/21.
(FYI, the extra punctuation is to remind me to breathe

 - in general good advice). 

I come to you today with a dilemma.  But this dilemma is not unique to me.  

All of us have this dilemma, even if we don’t know it.  The issue I speak 

of today is Nostalgia.  We carry a fondness for things that have brought 

us happiness, which in itself is not a bad thing.  

Like a blanket, there is a comfort in our nostalgia, but there is also, a blindspot.  

Over and over in modern culture, we have seen our celebrities, 

our institutions, and our fondly held heroes blemished, when we learn 

the harsh truths about them.  And then we have a dilemma.  

What do we do with our fond memories, when we learn that 

the image we hold is not as perfect as we thought it was? 

Today I will share with you, some of my fond memories, my blindspots, 

and why I feel others share this dilemma.   

After high school, I left my childhood hometown in Northeast Ohio, 

and moved to Florida’s Space Coast for college.  I came here 

not knowing anyone, without any connections to the area.  

My mom, like any good mom, was worried about her child all alone, 

and sent me care packages over the years, which included 

sentimental items from home.  During those years I received two blankets. 

 Both were sentimental from my childhood, but over the years 

my attitude about these blankets have changed.  

Now to understand this story, you must understand where I come from.  

Living in Northeast Ohio, you don’t get to choose if you are a “sports fan”.  

Cleveland sports are a part of your DNA.  Even if you don’t watch the games, 

you are a fan.  You root for the city.  Attending a game is a right of passage.  

You grow up learning songs, you buy t-shirts and especially sweaters 

(because it’s cold in Cleveland). You buy them for every milestone 

the team has ever reached.  You are not just a fan of the teams, 

you are a fan of the city, it is your identity.

Now as I said, my Mother sent me two blankets.  

The first one, my grandmother knitted as a gift for my mom, 

sometime before I was born.  It is brown, and orange and yellow.  

Cleveland Browns football colors.  My mother used to rock my twin sister 

and me in this blanket, with our matching browns jackets, sweatpants, 

hats and mittens.  Now I assure you, this is normal in Northeast Ohio.  

As I said, you are a fan at birth.  

This blanket currently sits on my bed, or on my lap at my desk, 

often full of sleeping ferrets.

Now the second blanket is for our baseball team, what was 

formerly known as the “Cleveland Indians”.  Here is where my dilemma starts.  

A blanket is a must in Cleveland, the weather gets cold and any good fan 

will show their support, with a team branded blanket.  So naturally, 

my mother sent me an Indians blanket, to feel more at home.  

Up until recently, almost all Indians merchandise, included our mascot, 

Chief Wahoo.  So my blanket has a GIANT Chief Wahoo on it, 

surrounded by the words “Cleveland Indians”.  For reference this is 

Chief Wahoo.

Of course most people in 2021 look at this name and image and immediately 

understand it is racist.  

Now as I said, your perception is shaped by where you live and your memories.   

And nostalgia has a way of clouding your perception (that Blindspot).  

So having grown up with this image and the name Indians, I never questioned it.  

I never thought about it, it didn’t cross my mind that it might be wrong.  

I saw it as a cartoon, as did many others.  

And even when it was suggested that it was inappropriate, I didn’t give it much thought.  

It was so ingrained in my memories and happy childhood, that 

the thought of tarnishing that nostalgia didn’t enter my consciousness.  

And that’s the problem.  Things that we are brought up with, that we connect 

happy memories with, we don’t want to inject new information, that tarnishes 

those happy memories.  That is why you see racist mascots, rebel flags 

and offensive names remaining as long as they do.  Because generations 

have held fond memories associated with these items, so much 

so that they are unwilling to inject new information when it is presented to them.

Now as for Chief Wahoo, he comes with a sweet story, that the city 

has used for years to defend their beloved mascot.  The story goes 

the “Chief” and the name “Indians'' are in honor of a star Indegeous player 

from the 19th century, named Louis Sockalexis.  He played for what was then 

the Cleveland Spiders, as one of the first Native Players in the league.  

And after Cleveland joined the American league in the early 20th century, 

the name change was made to honor him and other pioneering Native players.  

Wahoo was a common native “nickname” or more accurately a 

common “slur” so it stuck.  Over the years the image changed to 

become more “cartoony” in an effort to make it more acceptable, 

but it remained up through the 21st century.  Only recently did the 

team take steps to first remove “Wahoo”, and then the name “Indians''.

Now let's be clear.  You can have a great origin story, but that does 

not absolve you from an offensive name and caricature.  In other words, 

Great Story, Still Racist.  

Now knowing all that, the removal still has pushback.  Why, because of our 

nostalgic blindspots.  For me, leaving Northeast Ohio helped me to see 

what was clearly racist.  Once I got out of the bubble, once I started 

to look at my team with fresh eyes, or more accurately through other 

people’s eyes, I started to feel shame.  

But therein lies my dilemma.  I have fond memories of this team.  

I have pride in my city.  I have a love that does not match the racist 

caricature and name I see before me.   

So that brings me back to my second blanket.  The one with the 

giant Chief Wahoo, and name Indians blazoned across it.  So what do I do now? 

I now feel shame owning this blanket, but I have fond memories associated with it. 

And of course my mother sent it to me with the intention of love, so what can I do?  

That blanket currently resides in the trunk of my car, that is my compromise.  

I don’t want to give it away, I don’t want someone to display it proudly, 

but I don’t want to have it out either.  So I have it laid out in my trunk to keep 

the bed clean.  That is how I reconcile the dilemma of nostalgia and racism.  

And that is why I understand those who still wave the confederate flag or 

support their racist mascots.  Again, to be clear, just because I understand 

it does not make it right.  It is still racist, and it still needs to change.  

But it takes critical thinking, to see beyond your nostalgia, and understand 

how it is offensive, and that takes time.  It is a sense of mourning, 

to understand that your love of this thing, is complicated.

My nostalgic blindspots don’t end with a blanket.  Some of my more 

complicated memories revolve around my Father.  My Father passed 

away when I was 8 years old, so I don’t have many memories of him.  

It is particularly troubling, when the few precious memories that I do have, 

are now clouded.  Memories that are so personal, can make it even more difficult, 

to get beyond our nostalgic blindspots.

For example, one of my father’s favorite performers, was Bill Cosby.  

I have so many fond memories of my dad and Cosby.  He had all the 

comedy records, and we used to listen to them, and laugh and dance around.  

We watched the Cosby show, and I smiled, as he goofed around with kids, 

who were about my age at the time.  We used to reenact the games at 

“Rudy’s Birthday Party”, and sang songs down the stairs like the Cosby family did, 

with all the moves. 

Now we now know that Bill Cosby, did terrible things to women, without their consent.  

This went on throughout his entire career, through the comedy records, and 

the Cosby show years, and like others caught up in the “me too” movement, 

his actions were one of the worst kept secrets in hollywood.  Those who knew, 

said nothing, both because of his power, and his status as “america’s dad”. 

The Cosby Show was a monumental achievement, in it’s positive portrayal, 

of a well to do Black Family.  Representation is important, and Cosby 

embodied a symbol, that many did not want to tear down.  Now it took over 60 women, 

coming forward with similar stories, over decades, and decades, and an 

entire “me too” movement, to see the truth of his character.  

This was a nostalgic blindspot, for us as a culture.  And as with the 

other “truths” we had to see, we needed to mourn that nostalgic character 

we had in our heads, and see the truth.  It is like a death when someone 

we have admired, is shown to be less, than what we wanted them to be, 

and we are allowed to mourn, but we must also see the truth.  

I still have fond memories, but I can’t watch the Cosby show anymore.  

I can no longer just see the nostalgia, I now understand the truth of his actions. 

My father didn’t live to see Cosby’s downfall, and as I look at the old comedy records, 

I inherited from him, I wonder if he would have kept them.  

I wonder, if he could have separated the happy memories from the man.  

Sometimes in our nostalgia, we wonder if it would be better if we never knew 

the terrible things, our heroes do, but it is important, that we know.  

It’s important, that we see beyond our idealized nostalgia, and listen 

to the victims of these crimes.         

My father was also a history buff, and loved the Civil War. He had tons of books, 

and videos, he even created a Civil War game, with little green army men 

that he and his friends would play.  My father was a coach, and 

high school Math teacher, in the neighboring, idyllic  town of Willoughby, Ohio.  

I can remember as a child, my father would bring home students 

(who I was told often came from troubled homes).  They would come over 

after school, to play his homemade civil war games and have dinner with us.  

No one thought it was funny, that high school kids were hanging out at the 

coach’s house, It really was a different time in the 80’s.  

Now this town had two schools, Willoughby North, and Willoughby South.  

Their themes were also the Civil War, so my Father who taught at 

Willoughby South, was the Southern Rebels.  Their uniforms were the grey coats, 

and their symbol was the rebel flag.  Now you can see, 

the problematic area this is going into.  

The argument for years was that it was historical, and therefore not offensive.  

Of course many others, particularly those of African American descent, disagreed.  

Now this is not a deep south school, this is in the Great Lakes.  

It is also a predominately white town, so this view comes from a predominately 

white majority.  The school today still uses the gray color scheme and 

calls themselves the rebels, but to their credit they no longer use the Rebel Flag 

(although they kept it until very recently).  

Now my dad was the girls basketball coach, at Willoughby South, 

and he used to dress my sister and me, in rebel south cheerleading outfits, 

complete with gray pom poms and rebel flag patches.  So again, I grew up 

with this normalized, and didn’t realize until many years later, how offensive 

that rebel patch was.  When you grow up with something, that is seen as normal, 

you don’t know to question it.  When you are taught that something is your heritage, 

you automatically take offense, when it is called into question.  

So I understand, when I see those “Heritage not Hate” signs.  It can be hard to 

see beyond, what you were taught.  But as a society, we must learn to see 

the truth of these symbols.  We must learn the difference between history ,

and celebration.  And we must learn what belongs on your uniform, and what belongs 

in a museum or a drawer.  As I said, understanding does not make it less racist, 

and when you know better, you must do better.   

So I acknowledge that my past is filled with dilemmas.  We have this dichotomy 

of happy memories alongside terrible realities.  Some would prefer to live in 

that blind nostalgic state, those comfortable blankets.  To not acknowledge the pain, 

and suffering these symbols have caused.  But we must acknowledge this pain, 

we must acknowledge, this suffering, and call out our roles in it.  

While this helps us to understand, why people cling to these relics of the past, 

or deny the facts of bad behavior, it does not excuse it.  We must all learn to 

look beyond our nostalgic blindspots, and give way to compassion, and understanding.  

We must learn that refusing to see the truth, because of our relationship 

with these symbols, causes suffering in the world. 

So I will keep both my blankets, my comfort, but like all relics of the past, 

I will keep my baseball team's blanket locked away, where it is a fond memory 

and not a source of pride.  And I will proudly display my grandmother's 

football blanket for all to see.  And above all, I will thank my mother, for 

her thoughtfulness, and love, with two blankets sent to her daughter, 

to comfort her far away from home.  May we all find comfort in our own blankets, 

and see our own blindspots.

Thank you,