I have a lot of things I want to share. I’m very blessed to have had the childhood that I had. With the good, bad, and ugly of it, I am blessed. But it was not perfect.
Because of the current racial issues our country is dealing with, I want to talk about some of my heroes. I want to share this for my children and for anyone else interested in why I am who I am. I also think I need to process some of this out for my own clarity.
My Own Adult Heroes, Part 1…
My mom’s family came from different parts of the South. They were white and originally from Scotland. Going back as far as is documented by any family member, they stood against slavery, stood with the North during the civil war (sometimes having to go into hiding,) and eventually moved to California to avoid siding with the KKK. To put it plainly, they had to join the KKK, die, or leave. They left. This was rooted in their faith in God, and their belief that when God says we are created equal, He means it.
This had all happened way before I was born, but it was the backdrop for how I was raised … a child in the 60s and 70s in the middle of a lot of change.
My Adult Heroes, Part 2…
I grew up in the Bay Area in the 70s. I loved my friends! In grade school, I had a close group of friends. There were five of us. This is going to sound like I pulled this off of a Hallmark card, but it is the truth…..
My friend Karen’s parents were immigrants from Mexico (her mother did not speak English.) My friend Phyllis was black, Darlene was Filipino (her mother did not speak English,) Veronica’s parents moved to California from Germany shortly before she was born. And then there was me. The 5 of us were friends. There were many kids in my school and neighborhood or many colors, but these were my closest friends. We laughed, we fought, we cried, we sang, we snuck candy out of Veronica’s kitchen (they always had candy,) we had sleepovers, sometimes we were mean girls, sometimes we were nice girls, we played outside, we roller skated, we were obsessed with the radio station KFRC, we talked about boys, we got in trouble together, and we were friends. It was not a perfect world, so it was not a perfect situation. I heard Phyllis, Karen, and Darlene get called names on a regular basis. Veronica got called “Nazi” a lot because her parents were German. I got called names, and was spat on several times because I was white. It was the 1970s. Racial tension is not new. Things were tense then. But I saw some amazing things happened that had a huge effect of my heart ….. One day, when Phyllis’s aunt pointed at me and asked their family “why is this cracker girl in your house?” Phyllis’s mom kicked her aunt out, and hugged me and said “I don’t care what color you are, you are always welcome here.” When Karen’s older sister spit on me because I was white, Karen’s mom grounded her, sent her out of the room, hugged me, and wept. These things happened a lot. And when I would go home and try to tell my mom about these incidents, she would tell me to “forgive, let it go, never refer to anyone by their skin color even if they’ve hurt your feelings, see everyone as an individual, and go read To Kill a Mockingbird” … which I did … many times. I’ve never been under the impression that my struggles were equal to anyone else’s, but it hurt. But these women taught me what mattered. As kids we were not unaware of what was going on around us, but because the adults we trusted told us we were ok, then everything was ok at least for a while.
My Adult Heroes, Part 3…
When I was 21 years old, I got a job as a Live-in Counselor at a group home for girls coming out of Juvenile Hall. To say these girls all came from difficult home lives was putting it mildly. The group home was run by an amazing black Gramma named Velma whom everyone called “Momma”, and her infinitely compassionate adult daughter, Joni. These women expected excellence out of these girls, because they believed they needed someone to love them so much that they would set a high bar for them. And I believe that love changed the lives of about 75% of the 50 or 60 girls that came through that home while I was there.
I still don’t exactly remember how I ended up applying for the job, but there I was … a very white girl moving in to a house with a very happy, huggy “Momma” and 4 black girls who hated me the minute they saw me. My friends thought it was hilarious that Velma didn’t tell the girls ahead of time that a white girl was moving in. But that’s the point…. She wouldn’t have. She practiced what she preached, and what she preached was “God loves us all and skin color doesn’t matter to Him so it shouldn’t matter to us!” … It was an amazing and chaotic time, … I spent a few nights trying to find girls who had bolted from the house, in the middle of the night…. in South Sac and Oak Park, … by myself, so that they wouldn’t have to go back to Juvi. I looked to Momma’s strength at every turn, and by the grace of God it was one of the best periods of my life. By the way, eventually the girls loved me, but they thought I was crazy.
I’ve always hated the phrase “I don’t see color.” I hate it when people say “We should be color blind” … I love the color!! I loved the color and culture that was inside the homes of my friends growing up. I loved the smell of the food Karen’s mom cooked and I loved sound of their language. I loved Phyllis’ mom’s beautiful hair, and the music she listened to, and way she and her husband danced in the living room. I loved listening to Veronica’s parent speak German to each other and laugh even though I had no idea what they were talking about. I loved Momma’s voice ringing out from her room as she sang Gospel songs by Shirley Caeser! I love the color!!!!
My sister and I got so used to the multi-cultural world we lived in that when we moved to from the Bay Area to Carmichael as teenagers, we went through culture shock because there were only white kids at school. It looked like everyone had stepped right off of a Beach Boys album cover. Hilarious!! We laugh about it now, but it was weird at the time.
With all of that being said, to me my life has never been about “race relations” in fact that is kind of my point. There was so much going on in the 1970s. I have more stories about my neighborhood,… the commune down the street, the hippies, the cops, the dear family two houses down that moved there from London in the middle of all that craziness, my best friend Robbie who was being raised by his motorcycle ridin’ single mom …. But those are all stories for another time.
It’s never entered my head that I would be called to figure out where I stand on racial issues. Maybe that’s good, maybe that’s bad, maybe I haven’t been as aware of some issues as I could have been …. I don’t know. But I’ve always known where I stand and I haven’t had to question it, and I know who I have to thank. I am indeed incredibly thankful for that.
Thank you for reading this! If you are one of my children, take this all to heart, love people first, take a breath and pray for guidance, use your critical thinking, listen with both ears, never ever stereotype, drink more water, floss, get more sleep, try to be a city on the hill, and read To Kill a Mockingbird! And I love you!!!
