Things Change

It was cold and close to Christmas. I was sitting in the main dining room at the historic Mimslyn Hotel in Luray for an early breakfast meeting hosted by the Page County Chamber of Commerce on behalf of Virginia Congressman Bob Goodlatte. The participants gathered around a large banquet table, the soft early morning sun illuminated the freshly pressed white table cloths, and my first cup of coffee sat squarely on its saucer.

Our host called our meeting to order with a good morning, an obligatory thank you for our early morning attendance, and an unusual proposal.

“How about we go around the table and everyone introduce yourself, and for fun, tell the group something about yourself that no one would expect,” she said. Her eyes scanned the room and, of course, they landed on me. “Let’s start with Matt,” she said.

“Blasted name tag,” I thought. “Hello, my name is Matt Homer. I am here on behalf of Congressman Goodlatte. I know none of you will ever have a problem with the federal government (paused for laughter), but if you ever do, please give us a call. Congressman Goodlatte is always here to help the good folks of Page County. Let me see, something that you would not expect about me … well, I used to be a rodeo cowboy. A team roper to be exact.”

For some reason, everyone’s eyes suddenly looked like the saucer holding my now-lukewarm cup of coffee. “I was not expecting that,” replied the host. Perhaps it was my suit and bow tie. Perhaps it was my trusty American flag lapel pin. Perhaps it was my Allen Edmond cap toe dress shoes instead of cowboy boots. Yee-haw.

Things change.

Every Tuesday and Thursday, I would have my horse saddled and tied to the gooseneck trailer, the old red Dodge hooked up, and all my gear in the tack room. Ropes? Check. Spurs? Check. Extra Feed? Check.

Impatiently, I would wait for my grandaddy to make that turn down the drive. Mimi would have our bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches wrapped in tinfoil, and two coca colas ready for the road. As soon as he got home, I’d load my horse in the trailer and off to Dunn’s arena we’d go.

Mr. Dunn had a team roping arena out on Texas Hwy. 67. Mr. Dunn worked at the coal mine, like many of the men his age, including my father. Mr. Dunn only had half a right thumb. A roping accident — he got his thumb caught in the dally (you can check out what dally means here). For fifteen bucks, I roped my thirteen-year-old heart out until Mr. Dunn shut the lights off at 10pm.

I remember the old wood-burning stove under the lean-to shed that I stood next to in the winter. I remember the smells of the dirt and the farm. I remember Mr. Dunn teaming up with me one Sunday afternoon when he hosted a team roping tournament. Mimi brought her Chow pups and lunch in her white Cadillac. I remember our eight-second time. I remember it was the first time that I actually placed. I remember winning one-hundred dollars that day. I remember I had to split it with my partner, Mr. Dunn.

Driving east on Texas Highway 67 recently, I drove past the old Dunn arena. Tall weeds replaced the rich soil that had filled the inside of the arena. There were no steers grazing in the back pasture. The old lean-to shed was falling down. The memories hit me like a flood as I gazed upon that tangible ghost from my past, and I felt bereft.

Things change.

That day, I wondered what had happened to Mr. Dunn. Did he move away when the coal mine shut down? Did he pass away too soon like my grandaddy? Is that why he quit roping? That’s why I quit roping. “I’ve got to get this shredding done; Matthew and I are going roping tonight.” That is the last thing my grandaddy told my Mimi that day. We didn’t go roping that night or any night after that day. Oh, the tyranny of reality.

Things change.

Perhaps, it was that change that ultimately brought me to the Mimslyn that morning with a unique little quip about my unexpected cowboying past.

Shortly after that meeting at the Mimslyn, I had the opportunity to be a part of the Sorensen Institute’s Political Leadership Program class of 2015. I even told a story about my grandaddy during my interview for the program.

During my year with Sorensen, I met one of my dearest friends, Lashrecse Aird. She was a Democrat running for the Virginia House of Delegates (a seat she won and holds to this day) and I was the chairman of the Shenandoah Valley Young Republicans and District Representative for a Republican member of Congress. Political opposites. We argued. We debated. We bonded. We became friends for life.

Change brings us to unexpected places.

I remember sitting outside of the Republican headquarters in Harrisonburg, Virginia, during the 2016 election talking to Lashrecse. She was working to elect Hillary Clinton. I was working to elect Donald Trump. I made my excuses. She told me I knew better. She was right. Fast forward to 2020. Lashrecse is the first person that I told that I had decided to leave the Republican Party and that I was voting for Joe Biden. She yelled.

Things change.

Sorensen afforded all of my classmates and me an opportunity to be challenged and possibly changed. On many occasions, I sat across from Lashrecse engrossed in conversation. I listened to the voice of a young Black woman desperately wanting to make a difference in the General Assembly. I heard a perspective that I could not begin to understand without her voice. I heard the urgency of a young mother afraid for her boys. She challenged my worldview. She cared about my perspective. She gave me an opportunity to better understand my racial and inequality blind spots.

Change can be good.

This year, I texted Lashrecse and told her that I was heading to Dallas to witness the protests for myself after the death of George Floyd. I was sick of hearing white Americans spewing their veiled biases by identifying all BLM protestors as rioters and looters or as Marxists and Socialists. The fears of the dominant caste surfaced once again while ignorantly or unwillingly failing to recognize the travesties of our recent past.

With the destructive remnants of the Jim Crow South still visible under the surface, with Black men and women being killed by those sworn to protect and serve, and with the chasm of inequality widening by the day, keyboard warriors on the right had the audacity to cast their stones. It was too much.

Are we willing to change?

Ask yourself before you speak with such audacious ignorance … has anyone in your family been killed by their government because of the color of their skin? How many times has a mob of racial zealots stormed and burned the courthouse where your White child was standing trial for talking to a woman of another race?

Did your ancestors fear for their lives if they failed to address a member of the dominant caste as “Sir”? Has a picture of the mutilated remains of your lynched family members been sold on postcards? Do you honestly believe the grasp of the dominant race in America automatically loosened its grip after the passing of the Civil Rights Act in 1964?

Not a chance. Instead, the GOP was reborn in the South and politicians learned to watch their tone and perfect their message lest they lose the Southern vote too. Lee Atwater called it the Southern Strategy. Today, we call it Trumpism.

I cannot relate to such systemic brutality, but she can. Nonetheless, what did Lashresce say about my trip to the Dallas BLM protests? “Mattttt, be careful,” she said.

Things need to change.

This week, Virginia Governor Ralph Northam signed a bill sponsored by Delegate Lashrecse Aird banning no-knock warrants — Virginia’s version of Breonna’s Law. “Today is a commemoration of the life of Breonna Taylor,” Aird said. “Today is a recognition of the end of a practice that has put the lives of law enforcement and those they come in contact with at risk. And today is validation for the many leaders and advocates that took to the streets right here in the Commonwealth of Virginia to fight for the change that we will make today.”

Change is hard.

I could not be prouder to call Delegate Aird my friend. I think about the changes in my own life that made our friendship possible. Changes that were impervious to any human effort or discomfort. Change that afforded me the opportunity to grow and expand despite the pain and struggle.

Looking back, I have been enriched by the changes. Friends like Lashrecse have made me a better version of myself by helping me reach beyond the limitations of my own perspective.

What will we do with the change?

Legislation alone cannot change hearts and minds, but it can alter behavior and norms. This change in the Code of Virginia is an opportunity for us to reflect, to grow, and to expand our worldview. If nothing else, let this change be an opportunity to have a conversation, to understand the other side of the coin, and to evaluate our collective understanding of equal protection under the law.

I texted Delegate Aird after the bill signing. I told her that I was proud to be her friend. I told her that she is actively working to perfect our Union. I told her that history never forgets and eternity can only tell the full impact of her accomplishments.

Be the change.

I hope that Delegate Aird will continue to recruit allies like myself. I hope she will tirelessly continue to fight for her family, her community, her constituency, her Commonwealth, and her country. I have a feeling she will … will you?

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