I Could Have Been a Racist, But Fortunately Am Not!
I should be a racist, but I praise God I wasn't tainted with that kind of hatred for others. I thank God that I was young when the public school system was integrated inWashington, DC . I started Kindergarten in 1951 or 1952 at Barnard Elementary School on 5th Street in the Petworth area and the area was totally white. All that changed following the Supreme Court decision in Brown v Board of Education in 1954. I'm not sure whether I was in 4th or 5th grade, but I remember a first day back to school when there were lots of young black little girls who showed up in beautiful, fancy pink crinoline dresses. I don't remember the boys specifically, but I'm sure they were dressed in Sunday finest shirts and slacks, maybe even with ties. They were stunning and they were friendly and fun and, oh, my, they were "just kids" except they could jump double-dutch better than we could.
There was one light-skinned black girl, Kyle, that I became especially good friends with. She was a Seventh Day Adventist, which didn't mean anything much to me. I invited her to come home with me to play and her mom evidently said it would be okay. We walked home to my house and I knew she lived in the opposite direction from our school but I'd not been to her home, but it was comparable to ours. We had fun, probably played house on my front porch. Then disaster struck - one of the worst experiences I have ever had and brings tears to my eyes even now. My mother arrived home from work and was furious that there was a "Negro" in her house. That was when I learned what racism was and saw how ugly it was. I don't remember if she said anything specifically to the girl or, more likely, made me tell her she had to go home. I got "bawled out" though, but I knew my mother was absolutely wrong. I probably didn't know the term, "racist" but I was shocked by the ugliness of it.
We shared our home with my mother's parents, who'd both grown up in the country in large families outside a little town in North Carolina, called Mt. Holly. There were black people who lived on the property that my grandmother grew up on, and where I often visited in the summers. The black folks were poor and did washing and chores for my relatives, and other jobs. Someone in the family was teaching them to read. I knew they weren't well off, but we were all friendly and I don't think I had any notion of "inequality" - just some people were rich, some not rich or poor, and some more poor than others. Well, they were poorer than we were, but we all shared and helped one another. They helped out with the animals and various odd jobs, sometimes ironing, while we shared tools and produce with them and helped when help was needed. There was no road to their home which was across a stream at the back of the farm. I remember walking down with my Aunt Dora to take eggs to them. (I loved feeding the chickens but never did master milking a cow very well. But I was a great "cow caller!" "Sue cow, suey, suey,suey!"
Other thoughts - I had a couple black female teachers in elementary school, remember one was named Mrs. Davies or Davis, not sure. They were very attractive women, professionally attired, great teachers - actually Mrs. Davies was probably my favorite elementary teacher.
I have lots of other positive memories about black people from my youth and I just wish things could have stayed that way, but racial tensions escalated and later in places I worked, things could be a little edgy at times, but not with everyone. Certainly, there are just edgy people no matter the race, but it is unfortunate that "race" should ever be the root cause. It's other influences that have distorted relationships among the races.
Last thought - sitting in a hospital waiting room a couple years ago, I enjoyed a conversation with a very distinguished black gentlemen who'd grown up in North Carolina and was my age. We had a grand conversation about our experiences with integration. I think we both loved that.
There was one light-skinned black girl, Kyle, that I became especially good friends with. She was a Seventh Day Adventist, which didn't mean anything much to me. I invited her to come home with me to play and her mom evidently said it would be okay. We walked home to my house and I knew she lived in the opposite direction from our school but I'd not been to her home, but it was comparable to ours. We had fun, probably played house on my front porch. Then disaster struck - one of the worst experiences I have ever had and brings tears to my eyes even now. My mother arrived home from work and was furious that there was a "Negro" in her house. That was when I learned what racism was and saw how ugly it was. I don't remember if she said anything specifically to the girl or, more likely, made me tell her she had to go home. I got "bawled out" though, but I knew my mother was absolutely wrong. I probably didn't know the term, "racist" but I was shocked by the ugliness of it.
We shared our home with my mother's parents, who'd both grown up in the country in large families outside a little town in North Carolina, called Mt. Holly. There were black people who lived on the property that my grandmother grew up on, and where I often visited in the summers. The black folks were poor and did washing and chores for my relatives, and other jobs. Someone in the family was teaching them to read. I knew they weren't well off, but we were all friendly and I don't think I had any notion of "inequality" - just some people were rich, some not rich or poor, and some more poor than others. Well, they were poorer than we were, but we all shared and helped one another. They helped out with the animals and various odd jobs, sometimes ironing, while we shared tools and produce with them and helped when help was needed. There was no road to their home which was across a stream at the back of the farm. I remember walking down with my Aunt Dora to take eggs to them. (I loved feeding the chickens but never did master milking a cow very well. But I was a great "cow caller!" "Sue cow, suey, suey,suey!"
Other thoughts - I had a couple black female teachers in elementary school, remember one was named Mrs. Davies or Davis, not sure. They were very attractive women, professionally attired, great teachers - actually Mrs. Davies was probably my favorite elementary teacher.
I have lots of other positive memories about black people from my youth and I just wish things could have stayed that way, but racial tensions escalated and later in places I worked, things could be a little edgy at times, but not with everyone. Certainly, there are just edgy people no matter the race, but it is unfortunate that "race" should ever be the root cause. It's other influences that have distorted relationships among the races.
Last thought - sitting in a hospital waiting room a couple years ago, I enjoyed a conversation with a very distinguished black gentlemen who'd grown up in North Carolina and was my age. We had a grand conversation about our experiences with integration. I think we both loved that.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home