Racism … Generation to Generation
Posted by: Devyl GyrlI do not know how - being a Southerner, a military brat, and the daughter of a racist pig - I managed to escape the bigotry and racism of my family and background.
I think that the one thing I was blessed to receive in my childhood was the ability to look around and see that while we are not all equal, we can all still climb our way to the top of whatever it is we see as important.
My mother grew up living in a chicken coop - literally. Her parents come here from Mexico with two boys in tow and another on the way. She was born a couple of years down the line. By then, the chicken coop had plywood walls, shuttered holes for windows, and a “door” fashioned of burlap sacks. My grandfather worked his butt off, learned English, saved money, and became a citizen. My grandmother kept the children in line, worked hard to keep their humble home clean, earned money when she could by taking in sewing and washing, learned English, and became a citizen. Eventually, they bought a humble home - a mobile home. They built an addition to make it a house. They purchased the land on which they resided, and neighboring plots of land as well. They became, American.
My other three parents (Dad, Stepmom, Stepdad) did not fare a whole lot better in life, though they were all born to American parents who at least lived in an actual building. They all grew up in a poor community, on the “white” side of the tracks (yes, literally - our town was divided by the railroad tracks!).
There have always been stark difference between my two sets of parents. I grew up with Mom & Dad (Stepdad), who were financially secure, strict, didn’t go to Church, and were *privately* racist. I spent summers with my Dad & Mom (Stepmom), who were somewhat struggling financially, very lenient on their children, did not attend Church regularly (but did attend sometimes), and were somewhat openly racist.
How did I not hear the racist comments my family made, or recognize their racist ways? How did I grow up withoutu a racist bone in my body? My best friend was a black girl. I never understood why she wasn’t allowed at my house, or why I wasn’t allowed at hers. SHE knew, and told me, often. I just didn’t believe her. That *couldn’t* be the reason! My parents all had friends from different races, and my mother is MEXICAN for goodness sake! How could any of my parents be racist?
My first “wow” moment was when my teenage brother (my Dad & (step)Mom’s son) thought he’d gotten his girlfriend - a mulatto girl - pregnant. My stepmother’s first reaction when I asked her about it? “I hope that child doens’t *look* black! It can skip generations, you know!”
What in the WORLD? I could not believe my ears. I could not believe my Mom - the kindest, most generous, most open, most wonderful person I had ever known - had said such a thing. This woman, who had been the ONE person to consider MY feelings in all the chidhood turmoil of split vacations, split holidays, stepparents, divorce, child support … this woman had just said the *stupidest* thing I had ever heard in my life! Incredulous is not *strong enough* of a word to describe how I felt.
My second “wow” moment was a year or so later, when my Mom & (step) Dad came to visit me in the house I had purchased. Dad was going to help me install ceiling fans, paint a room I didn’t like the color of, and fence in the back yard. We were (amazingly) getting along really well that weekend. They had been there a whole day, and no fights - amazing! He and I do not mesh well together, so I was pleased. One of the fans had some unfamiliar pieces and wiring, so we decided to look up directions on the Internet. He went to my computer, flipped it on, and connected. A few minutes later, he came out of my room, rushed through the process of hanging the fan, then told my Mom & Sister to pack their stuf. I was surprised, and asked what was going on, but Dad just said he wanted to get back to the house because he thought it would be storming the rest of the week and he had lawnwork to get finished. This was *not* an unplausible reason for him - he is quite odd and has many quirks. I said ok, helped pack up, said my goodbyes, and sat down to enjoy my newly-cool room. Later that night, I received and email from my sister. She asked me who the “naked” black man on my computer was, because Dad had yelled about it all the way back home. I nearly died laughing. I could not believe he was upset over a picture! One of my friends - a bodybuilder - had some photos taken of him in just a pair of blue jeans, and *that* is the picture that happened to be on my desktop. I was proud of him - he looked great, he was sexy, and he had the most beautiful smile. It was a picture that reminded me I was loved, because despite thinking I would never hear from him again after I transfered out of New Jersey, he had not only kept in touch, but continued to visit me through the years. The fact that he happens to be a “colored” man? I barely even notice, if at all.
I get so sick of the “accidentally” racist people - the ones who do not think about the degredation in their words, the pain they cause without knowing. I get increasingly angry with my Mom & (Step)Dad, who seem to get more racist as time goes on (this could just be me noticing more, though). I am embarassed when my Dad’s second wife (my (Step)Mom passed away in 2005, having previously reconciled her own racism and found her “heart’s home” in a Gospel Church, where she was one of a handful of non-black members) makes off-color jokes, portrays her fear of being on the “other” side of the tracks in town (the town is no longer legally divided, but those who grew up there before the de-segregation still refer to the two sides of town as “white” and “black”), or talks about the “berry pickers (Mexicans)” she “almost hit” on the way home. I am angered by all of these things, as well … but find it hard to continue fighting the losing battle of “teaching” my elders the uselessness of racism.
Instead, I focus on my child. I grew up unaware of racism in a *very* racist world. I will ensure that my child is not only aware of the racism, but also speaks out against this dispicable behavior.
July 15th, 2008 at 11:01 pm
I was fairly lucky. I also did not really see the racism that swirled around me, but my parents - to my great relief - did not contribute to it.
I’ve been blind to race and racism for so long that I often don’t catch it unless it’s rubbed in my face or shouted in my ear. When my wife and I walk through a store, we sometimes get dirty looks (being an interracial couple). She usually tells me afterwards. One of the very few things I counted a positive to the time I spent living in rural Alabama was that I was able to see, for the first time in my life, just how rampant and pervasive racism could be. How an otherwise lovely human being could have such a twisted, perverted view of things as to think an entire group of people were somehow lessened by the color of their skin.
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July 15th, 2008 at 11:20 pm
Amazing but sad. My dad never forced or utter racist comments. My mom and grandmother weren’t racist but would remind me to be cautious. I find that I am more or less cautious towards my own race, basically the opposite of my upbringing. Maybe some reverse psychology is at work here.
Have you seen the Dave Chappelle skit when he’s a blind since birth black man and a member of the KKK? I laughed and thought how far we have come… in 200 years.
July 18th, 2008 at 2:15 pm
I commented in detail to this post at “the other site” but wanted to give it some home crowd love too
I can personally relate from actively dealing with my fathers unaware socially conditioned racism for years.
I’m very glad to see the approach you are taking with your girls… the world will be a better place due to your impact upon them
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