THE DAY YOU LEARNED YOU WERE BLACK

I read something a few weeks ago that made me profoundly sad. It has stayed with me for lots of reasons, one of which I’m sure is because I fear my own children face a similar fate and I dearly wish I could do something to change not only their fate but that of others who face it. I am saddened by our lack of understanding, kindness, goodness and fairness.  My little ones have rarely been out of my sight or control their entire young lives. They have been in a safe, loving environment where no one could hurt them.  Now, I have one turning five-that magic number where they enter school and spend several hours a day in the company of other children and teachers--people I can’t choose or control. I have been able to protect and shield them but now they will face the world unvarnished. I can only respond to their experiences and hope I have created an open enough relationship that they will share those experiences honestly with me so I can help process them. 

I wrote to the author of this blog (who is unknown to me) I happened onto where I read the piece that made me so sad and asked her if I could share it on my blog. She agreed. The reason it made me so sad is because it was so honest, so truthful and so real. It was because I understood in reading it that there was no way out but through this experience for my children in the current world we live in. Even if I found a way to explain it to my children ahead of time—I would be forcing them through the experience and that is tragic to me. I hope you can see, NO, I hope you can feel what I am saying, what Margaret is saying. Margaret is the author of this piece. It is horrifying to me that any child, especially a CHILD, but that anyone should ever have to experience what Margaret went through. I don’t want my kids to go through this kind of pain. I don’t want our world to be like this. I don’t want their world to be like this. 

Margaret’s experience is below. I will include the link to her blog because I think it is important to read the comments/feedback she received after writing this. I hope you will take a minute to read those comments as well. We can only make the world better, we can only be better people if we open ourselves to understanding each other.  Nancy

The Day You Learned You Were Black…..

"This post is inspired by a Facebook post that I saw from my brother this week and I must say that while it disturbed me, it brought me back to a moment that I am convinced that all black children experience. That moment when you realize that you are black.  That you are of those people that America seems to hate….and it catches you off guard.  I think that this is a phenomenon that is an ‘America Only’ type phenomenon, but I only grew up in one country so I can never be sure.  (Feel free to chime in if you were raised somewhere else and had the same experience.)  Anyway, I remember the day so vividly that you would think it happened yesterday…it was truly a pivotal moment in my life, but before I go forward here is a portion of the post from my brother:

 Today at school, my 13 yr old daughter (14 next Tuesday), during school lunch today was pushed from behind and called “N-G-G-E-R”. She was frightened to turn around to see who said it (because she doesn’t know many kids yet) and sat down and cried.

  

Obviously when I read that and thought about what my niece could have been feeling, my heart broke.  No child really knows how to handle that situation and being from California (the valley),  I would imagine that it is probably the first time something so serious has happened to her regarding her race.  I see her pictures on Facebook and usually she is the only African-American face in the group and I applaud her for not knowing the difference, but if she is anything like me….this experience would change all of that.  These experiences have a way of keeping you prepared and guarded for the next experience OR of making you choose to spend most of your time with people that look like you.

So not to leave you hanging on the experience that I had…and as I write this all I’m thinking is that my poor parents are gonna be so upset that this happened right under their noses and I never shared it.  Well, there were these two white girls that lived up the street from me and they were my buddies, if I’m not mistaken their names were Heather and Ashley, they were not related to each other, they were actually next door neighbors.  My friend was Heather and Ashley was her friend….so it was kind of a situation where I would hang out with Ashley because she was with Heather, not because she was my friend.  Anyway, just painting a scene for you…lol.  So one day Heather and I went to Ashley’s house to play outside, I think I may have been around 10 or so.  I can’t remember why, but for whatever reason we had to go inside of Ashley’s house and I remember that it was the first time I had ever seen the inside of her house.  All of our playing, up to that point, had taken place outside so it was a weird experience.

While we were in the house it was beginning to get dark and it was around the time that people’s parents began to get off work and arrive home.  I remember feeling like it was about time for me to say goodbye to them and head home, but not two seconds before the thought left my mind did Ashley say ‘We’ve gotta get out of my house before my parents get home, I can’t have black people in the house’.  *GASP*  If I were white, my face would’ve turned red at that exact moment.  I was so embarrassed and confused.  Why would she say that? Why can’t black people be in her house? I’m a good person! I make good grades! I speak well! I am smart (flashback of the help…’You iz kind…You iz pretty…’ lol). But yes…I just didn’t understand what my being black had to do with anything concerning who I was. I. WAS. SO. CONFUSED! Afterall, HEATHER was the bad one. She would steal, curse, fight and do everything EXCEPT try to be a child of God.  So imagine the insult that I felt when it was because of ME that we had to leave the house.

After she said that, I swiftly walked out the house barely said a goodbye and went home.  I walked straight to my room, still perplexed, and carried on with my life as if nothing had happened. I ate dinner and went on my merry way.  The thing is, that experience haunted me then and it still haunts me now.  After that, the majority of my close friends have been black or non-white…mainly because of the level of trust that I am able to have with people of color.  When I share this story with my black friends, they all have their own story to tell about when they found out that they were black.  Unlike white children in America, I believe that we are robbed very early of the experience of just being comfortable in our skin and being children.  We are made painfully aware that all that is wrong with America is because of us…we are robbers, murderers, uneducated and everything else negative that needs to be pinned somewhere.  Do you think that is a drastic statement? Then where do you live? Because my niece was just called a Nigger for simply being at school.  She is only 13 so I am assuming that the child that did it learned it from his/her parents. Because I am from a country where in 2012, individuals at the Republican National Convention thought it was ok to throw PEANUTS at a BLACK camerawoman…because that's how they ‘feed the animals’.  Do I sound angry? Would you be?

If you are white/non-black and you think that I am being dramatic….think to yourself about what you have heard your own parents and grandparents say and imagine what it feels like to be called those names to your face. Think about the last time you were called  a racist, derogatory statement. Think of the last time you had to play with black barbies because they just didn't make white ones. Think of the last time that you ever had to consider or think about the color of your skin before taking certain actions.  Don’t worry….I’ll wait……

Trust me when I say it changes a person. It changes your faith in humanity….how you view the world….how you view yourself.  And much of the lives of strong, educated black folks everywhere is spent trying to re-gain what was robbed…trying to show you that YES, I can speak as well as you can….trying to be seen as a human and not as an outlier of our race (bc we have all heard from one of our white friends….’you aren't like other black people…you are different’)…..trying to do the job 10x better than your white counterpart because it IS still necessary in America…trying not to choke the white friend that insists on speaking in ebonics to you because lord knows that's the only English we speak.  The fact that I had to go through it means little to me, but the idea that my own children will experience it makes me very nervous.  If you think America is post-racial….read the comment sections of ANY article…trust me…it all goes back to black people being the problem with society.  Something is wrong with this picture! Something is wrong with another child pushing and calling another child the most vile word in the book!  Parents….lets do better….and lets start that now. Watch what you say because your children are listening and repeating.

I pray that this moment will not be imprinted in my nieces brain, but for some reason I think it will be.  Do you remember your ‘moment’? Disagree with me?  Please share your thoughts…..

http://chocolategringa.com/2012/08/the-day-you-learned-you-were-black/

This is Nancy again now. Did this hit anyone the way it hit me? Did it break your heart for 10 year old Margaret or for her 13 year old niece? I’ve never been discriminated against because of the color of my skin—so I can’t imagine what that feels like. I was made fun of for being an overweight kid and I do know that pain. I have felt religious persecution, serious religious persecution. It cost my husband and me an adoption after I had gone through the birth with the mom, had the babe in my arms and spent a couple of nights in the hospital with the mom and baby. Some “supposedly” religious nurses at a different denomination hospital pulled out all the stops to insure we would not go home with the baby when they realized we were not of a religion they agreed with. Very, very painful. BUT, still--not someone persecuting me because I’m me. I can change my religion. I can change my weight. I can’t change my skin color—and neither can anyone else. I realize sometimes the adults can get polarized—but how can we make this world easier and better for our children? We adults have lots of hard work to do but can we start with making things okay for our children—with helping them like and love each other? What do you think? I will have more to say on this, but I truly want to get your feedback. I hope you won’t be shy--and I hope, most of all I've given you a little something to think about. Take care, Nancy