Talking Race

This past week when I lay my head on my squishy, king pillow, I find myself opining on race.  Race smacked me in the face as a child….not literally, of course, but I guess I found myself having pretty strong opinions as young as six in the segregated South.  And, those views clearly were at odds with pretty much everybody in my narrow world.

Most southern women had ‘help’ and my mom was no exception.  Of course, my mom didn’t work outside of the home, but she had Rina or Dallas to do the heavy cleaning and the ironing.  I found myself drawn to these women.  Perhaps, it was because they were without exception kind, warm, and  great storytellers.  

Simultaneously, I was being taught that they were inferior to white people.  They weren’t clean.  They were simple, couldn’t think for themselves. It was against the law to intermingle the races.  Segregated schools, lunch counters, bathrooms, drinking fountains, railroad cars, buses, hotels, churches.    

Churches.  That’s the part that completely undid me.  The Bible Belt and the most racist region of the country.  I went to church at least three times a week….Wednesday night suppers, choir practice, Sunday school and morning and evening services.  Most of my social life revolved around the church.  I was learning the Golden Rule….you know, treat others as you would want to be treated or love your neighbor as you love yourself.  

I took these teachings very seriously.  They didn’t state to only love your white neighbors.  I just didn’t get the pecking order of things.  I never believed I was any better than a black or Hispanic person.  No better than Jewish people or Muslims.  What I believed was “there but for the grace of God go I.”  

My grandfather was a World War I veteran but, actually, he was still fighting the Civil War.  He was a prolific user of the “N” word.  His daughter, my mom, to her credit, hated that word and told him if he used that word in her house, he would be shown to the door.  Fortunately, he tempered his language there, but only there.  That word to this day is like a knife in my heart.  Years later, after I graduated from college and was teaching in an urban high school in New England, he asked, “Can’t you find any pick-a-ninnies to teach down here?”  

I loved my family.  I reminded myself over and over, these were the values they were raised with, the culture they were born into.  But, it would not be my values nor the values I would want to impart to my own family.  I knew I would have to leave my family and the South and embark on a new journey.  

In college, I participated in a tutoring program jointly sponsored by Florida State University and Florida A & M University.  For years, every Saturday morning, I tutored children on tobacco farms and in black churches.  Many of them worked on those farms so their school year was abbreviated to about six months.  Of course, it’s illegal now but this was a true learning experience for me.  The living conditions I observed were shocking…no window screens, four children sleeping in one bed, minimal clothing, often no shoes.  Most had never traveled more than five miles.  

But, more eager learners I have never encountered!  They were so bright, so hopeful, so loving.  Multiply these children I grew to love by thousands.  Thousands of bright, beautiful, loving children born into poverty and few opportunities.  

When I moved up north, I eventually became determined to live the minority experience.  I lived in an all black neighborhood, taught in a 99% minority high school.  My four year old daughter was the first white child in her day care center.  On several occasions, I felt uncomfortable being the only white person in the room, but I wanted to get beyond that…to try my best to get past our obsession with race and its stereotypes.  Just see people as they are.

Eventually, I married an African American journalist I met when I was active in politics, enjoying a reporter-source relationship that morphed into a profound friendship.  The most significant relationship of my life.

My family pretty much dismissed me as being a rebel.  Well, yes, that is true.  I rebelled against the culture of segregation and all its inherent ugliness.  And, I was certainly blessed to raise my biracial children in a multi-racial, ethnically mixed community, Columbia, Maryland, deliberately planned for families like mine.  Where my children grew up on a street with black families, white famlies, biracial families, Indian families, Vietnamese families, Jewish families.  You get the picture.

Living as the minority was certainly eye opening for me.  Yes, it could be uncomfortable and, occasionally, intense.  But, it was a choice.  I could change neighborhoods or change jobs at any time and blend into the majority immediately.  That is not the case for many minorities in this country who are stuck in poor areas with underperforming schools.  Who daily have to notice people crossing the street to avoid them or are followed in stores assuming the worst.  

But, I have hope.  Hate and fear will never win over love and courage.  I truly believe we must love our neighbors —- all of them, even the ones you vehemently disagree with — as we love ourselves. So, go out today and every day and shine your light!