Taking advantage of the "Feast Day Three-Day" (yep... Team Catholic's offices were closed for the feast of The Assumption of the Blessed Mother) I went to see The Help with my grandmothers this morning and learned a few things. First of all, I bought tickets on-line ahead of time, and although I tried to explain, I think they think I somehow stole them, wikki-leaks style. Second, when one of the entertainment weekly clips in the previews kept showing Bret Michaels, my grandmothers were quite confused as to why he was famous and "why does he wear that scarf on his head?". Again, there are some things you can't explain.
"The Help", however, was phenomenal, a great story with a lot of spunk. I won't even attempt to summarize, but the ugly reality of racism in Jackson, MS in the 1960s is portrayed in a way that makes you cringe and then think. A lot.
What struck me the most was that this was all less than a hundred years ago. The characters on the screen were driving cars and using telephones. Sure, they hadn't realized smoking would kill you yet, but the events on the screen didn't feel like "history" as much as "stuff that happened when my grandmothers were even older than I am now". This was not the distant past.
As I watched Skeeter's character thumb through the laws regarding segregation in Mississippi, the absurdity now so obvious, it made me wonder what my generation would look back on with shame. The women of Jackson lobbied to build bathrooms for their hired help, thinking it would add value to their house when all they do is give a testimony to the gross injustices of the time.
What will my generation look back on, ashamed? We gasp in horror as the bridge club quotes scripture to justify their actions... but what atrocities is scripture tossed around to defend these days?
It's uncomfortable... but worth thinking about.