Color Blind

When I was in my 20’s and 30’s if you had asked me about my experience with race relations growing up I would have said that my parents raised us to not see color. Looking back, I realize this is not true. We saw color. But it was through their actions and their words that my parents taught us that there is no difference.

Dennis the Menace by Hank Ketcham

When I was in high school a black* family moved into a neighboring town. Our school system is regionalized, so three towns attended the same high school. April was in my class, and in my homeroom. One morning she pronounced that she was the only minority in the 10th grade. I looked at her, puzzled, and told her she was not a minority. She had been born in the United States. She informed me that she was the only black student in our class. I had to agree.

When I got home that day I asked my parents about her statement. I explained that she could not be right. She had been born in the U.S. After all, only those who had immigrated were minorities. My (white) friend from Great Britain was a minority. April was not.

It was then that my father sat me down and explained racism. He told me about segregation. He told me about Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcom X. He shared his own experience in a segregated Air Force where he was called “n . . .  lover” for hanging out with his friend Mack. And he told me about an incident where a knife was pulled on him for leaving the “white section” to go and sit with his friend in the “black section.” I was horrified.

I still am.

I questioned him how human beings could treat each other in such a way. My father suggested I read Malcom X. My mother protested. Slightly. She thought I was too young to read it. He responded that if I was old enough to ask the questions, I was old enough to read about it. Besides, they would be there to talk to me about what I was reading.

This memory has stuck with me over the years. I do not think about it all the time. However, it becomes forefront in my thoughts every time see it on the national news or I encounter racism at work. My heart breaks that this is who we are as a nation. It is not what I want in a work environment.

My dear black, Latina friend tells people we are twins. I am the vanilla to her chocolate; we are chocolate and vanilla swirl. I have asked her to teach me about her reality. So she teaches me about micro aggression by pointing it out when she encounters one and we are together. 

I never want to live in a world where she cannot be my friend. Where I cannot hug her when we meet for lunch. Where her life is in danger because she is my friend.

I will not be color blind.

*I use the word “black” because several of my black friends prefer that description. They tell me, “My ancestors are not from Africa.” Also, it is the word that my generation grew up using.

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