Emotionally charged thoughts
Today I feel it’s necessary to share some very personal related to racism, white privilege, and my own personal story.
These are my emotionally charged thoughts:
As a white woman of privilege, I could have turned out way differently.
I grew up in a small town in Indiana, that happened to be in White County. Back in the 70’s and 80’s the county had signs that upon entering, said “Welcome to White County, let’s keep it that way.” I never understood what that meant.
My dad used to say the N word but would say that there were those of every color. He would tell stories of his childhood of a Polish man who was his boss. He would say they would call him racial term when they were mad.
Again, I didn’t understand.
I didn’t see a black person until 6th grade.
The first black kids moved into our little farm school at that time, and everyone wanted to be his friend. Everyone thought he and his big sister were the coolest. He was the best athlete, all the girls wanted to be his girlfriend.
My brother came out to my parents when I was in 7th grade.
The only memories I have were my mom getting really angry and throwing everything that was his out of the house. And seeing my Dad cry for the first time. Then the only thing talked about were that he would never give them grandkids and carry on the Sargent name. That Christmas, my brother had to buy all the presents to try to ‘win’ them over to get to even come in the house.
Things like racism and gender equality and equal treatment for LGBTQIA weren’t brought up around the dinner table. Heck, emotions or hard things weren’t brought up.
Probably why when my sister announced that she was pregnant at the age of 16 it was also not talked about. Only that she didn’t have an option to not have the baby and to finish school.
I feel like this happens a lot, maybe not, this was my experience though, in small towns.
In college, I had friends of color.
I didn’t think of them any differently than my white friends. I worked with all colors and creeds and never did I consider them different than me. Also, I didn’t consider how hard their life was every day, and the privilege I had either.
My brother started dating a black man when I was a freshman. He really opened my eyes to a lot of the things I missed during my growing up years. Nate helped me understand how to say things, and how not to say things. He also taught me how to do my hair and makeup because that was something I didn’t learn growing up either. Several times, I can remember having a conversation with my Dad. Specifically about using the N word around Nate and how it offended him. And my Dad was as clueless as they come. Not even realizing it was offensive to his potential son-in-law.
My parents always called him ‘colored’ not black. I still correct them, because that’s possibly worse.
Looking back, I blamed it on the way and time he grew up. In the 1960’s, in the north where it was common terms. Where segregation was still happening. That’s not the case today. Yet we have people who still refer and use it as if that’s the case.
During my internship with Back on My Feet Indianapolis, I had the opportunity to connect on a deeper level with the members. Many who were trying to get back on their feet after experiencing homelessness. Many of these members were black and just wanted someone to talk with. Or someone to share an experience with during the morning runs.
In those wee hours of the morning, many still dark, running through some not so great areas of Indianapolis, I felt at home. I felt encouraged and comforted. The men and women who circle up are not out to get you or me. They are human just like you and me. The only ‘problem’ was that maybe they were born with a color on their skin that’s different from you and me.
And that’s the REAL problem.
After having my oldest daughter, Leila, I realize that I became comfortable, maybe even fearful to speak up. I let the white privilege sneak back in. Maybe because there was more at stake; I was a mom. And had someone who depended on me. Black people and people of color may do the exact opposite. They may stand up more because there’s more at stake for their baby’s future.
Finally, I get that.
If I truly want to make the future different for my little girls, and really help them understand what’s at stake, I need to speak up and educate myself. Not just what is shown in school, but what black activists and people of color are saying and putting out. The words they speak are far more clear and true than anything we can read or see in the media.
As a white woman of privilege, I will never know what it’s like to send her kids and husband and brothers and sisters and parents out the door and pray that they come home safely.
As a white woman of privilege, I may not know what it’s like to be judged by the color of my skin or the texture of my hair, before I even open my mouth but I can ensure that stops in my home, and expands outward.
And as a white woman of privilege, the things I get to hear my kids fight and argue and cry about are petty things that don’t matter instead of what racial term was used towards them or how they were profiled or that they were unjustly stopped and arrested or worse for doing nothing wrong. And my heart aches for all of my mama friends who hear this and worse from their babies (no matter age, they are always our babies) on a sometimes daily basis.
Growing up, I had the least privileged life, but because of the color of my skin, it was way easier than those of my black and colored friends’ lives.
I will never understand or even pretend to understand, but I DO stand to end this for today and for our future. The future of humanity. The future of our children. For all the unnecessary lives who have been lost.
All of it has to end. It’s time to unlearn what has been fed down our throats and really open up to educate ourselves with what is right in front of our faces.
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