Tuesday, June 2, 2020

Tuesday Slice: First encounters


I grew up as a white military BRAT, the minority in countries around the world.
My parents were never the ugly Americans.
Any division in the ranks seemed to be officer versus enlisted.

Racial epithets were not part of my childhood home.
Sesame Street and Mr Rogers depicted a rainbow of people on TV.
I was only two in '68, shielded in my youth from that dark year.

An avid reader, I learned the words in print, recoiled at their use.
Heard the first aloud in college, walking the dorm halls with my roommate's little brother.
"Why's that white girl holding on to that little n*'s hand?"

I couldn't say anything to that girl in the presence of a four-year-old, just kept walking.

I dated a man with distinguished parents, a doctor and a lawyer, former military.
Didn't occur to me that his black skin mattered, until my family met him.
It was then I learned that the absence of epithets doesn't mean the absence of racism.

I have friends these days, distinguished in their own rights, who are followed in stores.
Pulled over in their cars in their own neighborhoods.
Afraid for their children who have done nothing wrong, but may be attacked anyway.

I have never been more aware of my privilege than in the last two weeks.
If I have been silent, it's only because I have been listening.
I pray those in positions of power are hearing with their hearts.

We know better.  We need to do better.


10 comments:

  1. Silence doesn't always mean that we don't care or are uninterested in what is happening around us. We have to be silent to hear what others are saying and then speak out for what is right. Everyone talking over everyone else leads to shouting where no one listens and chaos ensues.

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    1. Such good points you make, Arjeha. I am finding myself listening so much more than speaking up at the moment, unwilling to take any of the spotlight off of those who need the space to talk.

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  2. "It was then I learned that the absence of epithets doesn't mean the absence of racism." Thank you for sharing your experiences so powerfully.

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    1. Thank you, Molly. Sometimes those moments of realization are so very painful...

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  3. Your perspective and memories are powerful. You are right that racism exists in ways we do not think about until we are deeply reflecting. It is an underlying force that we all need to confront and control.

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    1. I am glad to have the space, time, and privilege to pause and reflect. Thanks for your supportive comments.

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  4. Honest and powerful words ... laced with grief that I can hear, as I feel it, too. Actions always speak louder than words, and listening is an extremely valuable, grossly-underused art. Silence is sometimes out of compassion and mourning - sometimes better than forcing words until the right ones come. And in giving one time to look into one's own heart.

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    1. Thank you, Fran. Grief, yes, and a feeling of helplessness. I hope we all come out of these trying times with more love and compassion for one another.

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  5. There is definitely tension between silence and the need to listen. I'm not sure we can be learning if we're talking. At the same time, this is definitely a moment to speak. I think your piece reflects that tension and honors your need to listen and learn right now while also taking the action of speaking and acknowledging that we must do better.

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    1. Thank you, Elisabeth. I'm participating in a district book study right now on Kendi's "How to Be An Anti-Racist". It's brought up a lot of thoughts, especially on my own response to current events.

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