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I grew up in the South. Not the deep South depicted in the movie "The Help" but the South nonetheless. I was born in 1962 so I was just a baby during the era in the movie. I went to see it tonight with 2 of my children and it has me reflecting back on my childhood growing up - what I saw and didn't see or maybe didn't want to see. Are we just as guilty when we look the other way or don't stand up? I think maybe so.
Segregation wasn't as visible when I was growing up in Kentucky because of when I was born but it was still there on many levels. Or maybe it wasn't as visible because I wasn't really looking for it. Our hometown was the home of Kentucky State University but it was always spoken of as the "black college". I remember a conversation I overheard between my parents one time. We belonged to the local "all white" country club. The black President of Kentucky State had applied for membership and been denied. I remember hearing my parents talking about it but I don't remember them saying it was wrong. For well after I grew up and moved away there were still no black members of the country club despite the fact that there were many who could have afforded it.
I have to say that my grandparents were definitely racist. I recall a specific incident with my grandmother that has stuck in my mind all these years. My mother was upset about my grandmother's behavior but she would never stand up to her mother. I took dancing lessons at Miss Marcy's Dance Studio. Every year we had a big recital. I always looked forward to it. I think I was maybe 8 years old for this particular recital. Our ballet dance had each of us paired with another dancer. There was one little girl named Ashley in my class who was black. She was tall and thin and beautiful and a better dancer than me. Ashley and I were paired to dance together in the recital. I was excited. My grandmother was upset because she didn't like it at all. That year my grandmother didn't come to my dance recital. I have never forgot that. Maybe I was too young at the time but shouldn't I have said something to my grandmother? At what age does it become an obligation that you stand up for injustice?
When my father was young, in his late 20's and early 30's, he was racist in some ways too. He realized the error of his ways as he got older though. It wasn't that he didn't treat black people with respect. It was that he didn't want me dating or marrying a black man. When I was in junior high and high school he was always telling me that I wasn't allowed to date a black guy and if I did he would never speak to me again. At the time I was pretty sure he meant it. My freshman year in high school at a big basketball tournament in our town I met this really cute black boy from Washington, DC named Mike. I was flirting with him all weekend but wondering in the back of my mind what my Dad would do if he found out. I was afraid to ask him for his address so I could write him. Funny though I have never forgotten him and I've forgotten lots of other boys I met back then.
Seeing the maids in their uniforms tonight reminded me of parties I went to growing up. The Help would always be dressed in a nice crisp uniform like the actors in the movie. Often times at parties there were black men wearing white coats and white gloves while serving drinks from silver trays. It never occurred to me wonder what they were thinking - like Skeeter in the movie. And now I wonder what Dee and Birdie thought about all those parties they worked at all those years. Were the white people nice to them or did they treat them like second class citizens. I don't know because I wasn't paying attention. Sometimes I think that might even be a greater sin - not paying attention.
It really wasn't until after I graduated from college and moved to Texas that I really started understanding the racial legacy of my growing up years. There was both overt and covert racism all over the place. There was in Texas too but I actually started to notice it and be bothered by it. Dallas, Texas is still one of the most segregated cities in America. NPR did a multi-day piece on it about 10 or so years ago.
People don't talk about racism. It makes them uncomfortable. It would make me uncomfortable to talk about some of this with my black friends. Its hard to admit that you weren't paying attention when all this was going on. I think our generation has done a good job of raising mostly colorblind children but is that enough? I know my children are colorblind but there are still lots of people around who aren't.
I'm not sure how to correct the problem but I am pretty sure not talking about it won't help.
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1 comment:
"My mother was upset about my grandmother's behavior but she would never stand up to her mother... Maybe I was too young at the time but shouldn't I have said something to my grandmother? At what age does it become an obligation that you stand up for injustice?"
Your mother, by her example, taught you NOT to say anything. You can hardly blame yourself for keeping quiet as a child.
What's beautiful and moving is that you aren't STILL following in your mother's footsteps. You made a conscious choice to teach your own children another way and to speak about racism here.
My parents are still extremely racist and bigoted. I've learned that talking to them about it won't change their minds... but living my life as an example might somehow touch them and/or someone else. Sometimes talking is overrated. You've gotta walk the talk.
<3
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