Recently I heard someone, a white someone, use the phrase "I don't see color" to a black man. He laughed at how ludicrous that phrase is. While I realized she was trying to make the point that she sees people, not skin color, I laughed with him...because it sounds so pious, so ignorant, for a white person to make that statement.
And since then I have realized how very much I do see color. It isn't that we are supposed to be "color-blind"...it's about the lens through which we see color. That makes all the difference.
From the time I was a very small, my mother taught me that people are all basically the same...we all eat, sleep, laugh, cry, love, etc. She taught that there are good and bad people of all races and colors. She would tell me stories of how she worked in the kitchen alongside a black woman who became her very close friend...doing the very same work she did. Equals. She sang me a song about a two little girls on different sides of a fence, one black and one white, who wanted to play with each other. It always touched my heart and made me wonder they couldn't?
Growing up, Rosemary Gonzales lived across the street. I used to love going over to her house (except for her little Chihuahuas who would nip at my heels) because it was so colorful. It was immaculately kept, her mother spoke broken English, her father didn't speak any at all. He had lots of friends who would come over on a summer evening, and they would crank up "Sunny" on the stereo and hang outside while Rose and I played.
I was 9 years old when the riots in Watts took place. I remember it was scary seeing all of those angry people on the television, breaking into stores and turning over cars. I would talk with my mom about it and she assured me that there were violent people in every race and walk of life. While she didn't approve of their methods, she pointed out why they were so angry.
When I was a little older, I had two Asian friends...Nancy and Jill. I was fascinated watching Jill's twin brother eat rice with chopsticks. It was kind of the coolest thing I'd ever seen. Why oh why didn't we eat with those fun wooden sticks at home?
By this time I was in love with "soul" music. My dad always had a thing for jazz, and he loved many of the old black singers...Satchmo, AKA Louis Armstrong, was a favorite.The music mesmerized me from a very young age. I watched Soul Train every
week, anxious to see the newest dances. I loved to dance, and
spent many hours in my room or the room of a girlfriend, dancing to our
45's of The Supremes, The Temptations, or whoever else was making that
sweet soul music. It seemed to me like rock music missed the boat when it came to dancing. I didn't have much interest in The Beatles at the time. Give me The Jackson Five! (In 8th grade I got to go with my friend to see them with her older brother. I think I screamed myself hoarse.)
High school was full of diversity. There weren't as many black students as there were Hispanic, Asian and otherwise. But it was still a melting pot of sorts. I was amazed by intense eye makeup the Hispanic girls wore, with their hair teased up so high I wasn't sure how they got into those lowered cars their boyfriends drove.
I remember around this time, my brother brought a beautiful black woman home with him. They were friends, and she was very sick. To this day I have no idea what her ailment was, but my mother made her up a bed and she stayed with us while my Mom nursed her back to health. It seemed completely normal to me. Looking back, I'm so thankful that it did.
After High School, I hung out in Hollywood a lot. Talk about diversity!! I still loved to dance especially at a hot disco called The Starwood. I remember one night Jermaine Jackson came in. My friend introduced us and I got to dance with him! He made a comment that I didn't "dance like a white girl" which I carried in my heart for a long time afterward.
I worked with a black girl who had become my friend. One night her car wouldn't start and she needed a ride home. I was happy to take her, even though she seemed to hesitate a little. She lived in Compton, which at that time (maybe still) was a black community. I dropped her off and was promptly pulled over by a black police officer who questioned what I was doing in that neighborhood, told me to lock my doors, and get myself home!
Years later, hubby played on a softball team that included a diverse bunch of men, with whom we became close. Our boys were small, and when they referred to one of the black guys as "the browned guy"...I loved it. So did he!
After moving to a small town, our world became very "white bread." I often lamented this, wondering if my sons would grow up with the same prejudices that I noticed among some of their classmates. During this time the church we attended had a sister church in Harlem New York. Two of my sons got to travel there to play against their basketball team. They stayed at a school in Harlem. It was quite an experience for them...their introduction to true diversity and a needed lesson.
In those days I became quite ill. I used to have women's meetings in my home, but had to stop because I was almost unable to get out of bed. Well, one week the ladies insisted on coming anyway. My dear friend showed up first with two black sisters. They immediately came to me and sat at my feet...and sang and spoke life back into me. They spoke encouraging words about my future that have all come true. They will forever be my dear sisters.
My hubby and I got to visit that same Harlem church for a conference years ago. It was a fun-filled weekend. But one night the fellowship went late. We were with a group of other white folks and had to walk out of Harlem to catch the subway back to our hotel. The ladies at the church would not allow us to walk alone. One of them volunteered to escort us through the streets of Harlem at night. She called out to folks sitting on their stoop, and they hollered back to her, quite curious as to her white entourage. She delivered us to the subway safely. Did she believe all of her people are prejudiced? Of course not! But she knew that some were, and she wanted to take precautions for our safety. She saw color...we were very white! And she knew in that situation we might not be safe.
I have always had a deep love for black culture. There was a big part of me growing up, that wished I was dark skinned. Seriously, I love the music, the passion, the life that seems to emanate from my black sisters and brothers
I believe that hatred is the purest form of evil. And I also believe that this is our time...all of us...to admit our prejudices one to another, and to open up a dialog. It is the time for change. We may not be prejudiced...not most of us. We need to be able to realize that not everyone is safe, not everyone is good, there is goodness and evil in every race. But one thing is sure...we have to own our part in the mess we are in. We must learn to do better, and be better, for future generations.
I want my children and grandchildren to know the story of my colorful life. I am so thankful and proud that they have open hearts full of love and acceptance, without prejudice and hatred. May the love and acceptance my mother taught me continue to live on in each of them. And may they always see color...and appreciate it.
