when i was a child, the majority of my white friends *hated* people of color. an indescribable, deeply-seeded, hate. my mom was absolutely racist and (i think) the rest of her immediate family was, too. i recall that my mom told me her dad (my grandpa) was once the grand wizard to the local kkk. i say this with neither pride or reverence.)
to this day, i don’t get why the color of someone’s skin initiates such hatred and/or violence by white folk. what could possibly be the predominant trigger. first psychologically? but why/what? ingrained pre-conceived notions?
looney tunes was very racist with some characters/situations and every child i knew were glued to the tv to watch bugs bunny, etc…so were most shows, until “good times” and “sanford & son” hit the waves. by local black credence, i was not allowed to call them between 1 and 2pm on sundays, because that was when “soul train” was on.
when kevin rotary dialed me (or anybody black my mom recognized), she’d shout out the door “one of your little friends is on the phone.) when my white friends called, she’d *always* call them by their name. did she not remember their names? would saying their names summon a demon?
anyway, hanging out with my black friends for much of my young life, showed me so much. i got lucky.
i was called “n-word lover”, by white people,for most of my young life. although i had no fear, fast wit, and was a tall for my age…i coulda’ raged out on them, but one of my (black) friends told me to ignore it…don’t respond…be the bigger man. because of his advice, and as much as i could, i felt a piece of his struggle for a moment. he goes through life like that (and worse) than i could ever fully empathize with.
i know it’s 2019 (as i write this) and that very little has changed on the racist rage, violence, and wrongful murder nightmares. i just thought it would all get better. do things really have to get that bad before it gets better? seems like it’s been plain long enough.
feel free to comment below…