The Day I Learned Racism Existed

I originally wrote this post in April 2018. It was one of my very first blog posts, and believe it needs repeating with a new introduction. Racism wasn’t taught in our history books or classrooms forty years ago, and still isn’t today. I am learning, more now than ever as the protesting grips this country. I want to reshare the story of when I learned that racism existed.  The day I witnessed it and decided I was going to do my best to keep it out of my life. 

My daughters used to tell me I was naive because I was admittedly surprised by stories of blatant racism.  Not any more! Now, they are seen and heard daily on television and social media. My head may not be in the sand anymore, but I can’t comprehend why bigotry continues in this day and age.  Yet, here we are … this country is at war. Racism wasn’t talked about in our home growing up, and now, it is a daily conversation.

Background

In my #metoo blog,  I mentioned moving at 15 and becoming somewhat of a juvenile delinquent.  I can honestly say that this move was a turning point that changed the rest of my life.  Let me give you a little background as to why this was so significant to me.

I went to a local HS through 9th grade, and then we had to move to White Plains.  My mother worked her butt off and did whatever she had to do to support four kids on her own.  At the time, my first school was 95% Italian, 4.8% Irish; we had one Jewish family that I was aware of and one black family.  That may be an exaggeration as there were also a few German families, but I think you get my drift.  Anyway, this is how I remember it as a child.

White Plains High School

In 10th grade, I started at White Plains HS.  I moved from a very small, caucasian town to a large school in a city that was very diverse.   I may have only moved a few miles, but at the time, it felt like moving to another country.

On my first day of school in big bad White Plains, I remember walking down the hall, not having a clue as to where I was going; north house, south house, and all those other places/buildings in between.  I was trying to get from 1st to 2nd period and was lost.

My first school had three hallways, the cafeteria, the gym, and an auditorium.  The hallways in White Plains HS were packed with kids of all different colors.  I remember feeling so small compared to everyone around me.  I was not used to this craziness and congestion that comes from a school of this size and was starting to panic.

In my anxiety-ridden state, I accidentally bumped into a girl. 

Books dropped, and this young black lady promptly turned and yelled at me to watch where I was going.  I know now it wasn’t a big deal, but at the time, I was SCARED TO DEATH.  I just wanted to go home so badly and back to my old comfy little school.  How could this be happening to me?!  Not only was I in a new place with no friends, but the first black kid I interact with is screaming at me.

I was panicking and wanted to run, but I couldn’t – I had to figure this out.  It was a different reality than what I was used to.  As the day went on, there were a few people who came right up to me and welcomed me with open arms, one in particular.  I am forever grateful to him.  He had no idea what I was going through and it helped me move forward just by saying hi. We are still friends today.

The Day I Learned About Racism

So I have been in White Plains High School for a few months.   At this point, I have made some friends of color, across a few ethnicities.  I quickly realized that White Plains is closer to the real world – which is a whole new world for me, and I was eager to be a part of it.  At this time in my story, my mom works in the city.   I could have friends over after school, as long as there isn’t a mess when she gets home (nor a fork in the sink).  My parents separated a few years earlier, and as I mentioned, my father was not around much.

On this particular day, I had a couple of new friends over our apartment; a very pretty caramel-skinned girl, and a black young man I had a crush on when there was a knock on the door.  Low and behold, it was my father! 

“Hey, Dad – what are you doing here?” 

Of course, I am surprised but happy! I was still young and naive with the eternal hope that my Dad will come around and actually spend time with his kids.

I was introducing my father to my new friends when he pulled me aside.  Through gritted teeth, he asked me,

“What are they doing here?”

He declared I was not allowed to have ‘them’ in our house.  He emphasized this telling me they had to leave and never wanted to see “them” in our home again.  My father also told me that he didn’t care what I did outside the house – but this was not allowed in our home.  Holy Shit!  

My happiness of having new friends over was quickly replaced with shock and embarrassment.  I had no idea what I was supposed to do, but somehow my instinct kicked in.  I went right back at him and said,

“You do not live here and it is none of your business who I have in my home or who my friends are!”

Then I slammed the door with him on the outside.

That was it – the day and moment I realized my father was a racist.  It made me sick to have witnessed and been a part of anything like that.  Heartsick, I realized I never wanted to be like him.   So this is racism … I had just got woken up.

As I said at the beginning of this post, I am still learning.  However, I knew all those years ago, I could never consciously hate or disregard a person based on their skin color.  It was also the moment I discovered my voice in regards to my anger towards my father.  From that point on, I made sure I shared my feelings about him whenever the need arose.

Lessons Learned About Racism

Years later, when I was raising kids of my own, I made certain there was never a comment or a thought of anything racist coming out of my mouth. I promised myself that my kids would NOT be racist.  Our doors were open to anyone and everyone.  I never pointed out the difference in skin color on a person.  A human being is a human being – end of story.

I thought I was doing the right thing, but maybe not. While discussing this topic with my two oldest daughters, Christine and  Roberta, I realized that I did not do enough.  Although they agree I did raise them not to see color, I did not talk to them about the existence of racism; just like it wasn’t taught to me.  I either didn’t realize or it didn’t occur to me.  There are no excuses – I am forever learning and will do my best to change that moving forward.

As for my dad …

I never let my father forget that he was a racist.  Honestly, I never missed an opportunity to throw it in his face and there were several of them.  In one instance, my father had been at my house attending a  family party and I heard him say something about the “N” word.  I quickly pulled him aside, as he had done to me all those years ago, and told him that we don’t talk like that in my home.  That kind of hatred was not allowed and if he couldn’t respect my wishes, then he wasn’t welcome.

I never want my kids to hear that word or learn that kind of hate.  He apologized and said he didn’t even realize what he said.  Was that the truth?  Maybe – but if he didn’t even realize he uttered that word, that in itself is a sad truth.  In the end, he respected my wishes and tried convincing me he wasn’t racist, after all, he had “black friends.”   Sigh … did he really think that made it true?  I hope that at the very least, he heard my voice in his head when I wasn’t there and thought about his words before he spoke.

If we want racism to stop, it starts in the home.

 That’s where it began for most people, like me.  You hear it in your home, and you don’t know any different because you are a child.  I didn’t realize until I was 15 that somewhere racism might be embedded in me, but it wasn’t going any further.  Things you hear as a child are in your core being, and it’s hard to undo the damage done by years of ignorance.  

Maybe my father was raised that way and didn’t know any better?  I don’t know, but I do know better, and it stopped with me.

I make a conscious effort every day to be a better human being.  We need to be more responsive to facilitate change and make it better for the next generation.  If we all follow through, hopefully, my grandkids and your grandkids will grow up in a different world … a better world. I know my kids are out there fighting for it!

Final Thoughts

I can’t miss an opportunity to talk about special kids like my Joe.  They don’t care about different colors or different religions or different ethnic backgrounds.  These beautiful human beings only know love, happiness, and gratitude for simple things.  I wish we could all be so innocent and spend some time in their world … maybe we would learn something.

Spread love, not hate – BELIEVE in the possibility that kindness can be contagious and infect everyone around you.  I BELIEVE so strongly, I had it tattooed on my arm as a constant reminder.

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I would like to give a shout-out to the person who sent me the anonymous gift with the Be Kind card pictured above … it filled my heart with so much love. The timing was perfect as it was a message and validation I needed. Thank you!! xoxo

Much love and peace always!

Sandy

#enlighten #empower #inspire #educate and always #BeKind to everyone regardless of race,