dontjudgeme's blog

black and white, and a target of both

I have been reading these 'black in america' blogs on CNN daily and found them to be very interesting.  They all give an interesting view into different lives of these bloggers and it's a neat perspective.

Here is today's post -

It’s 8 in the morning and I’m at flight camp for high school students in Georgia. Most of the students are black teens who claim a real passion for flying. In just a few minutes I get to accompany 17-year old Brandon Henry on his maiden voyage behind the flight controls. He doesn’t seem nervous at all, but I certainly am. I have not eaten breakfast. He offers me peanut M & M’s. I don’t think it’s such a good idea to eat right now.

Brandon is a remarkable young man. I admire his passion and commitment to flying at such a young age. What an incredible opportunity. And it made me think about where I was at his age.

A training program like this for minority teens wasn’t an option for me in the 1970’s in my small Louisiana town. Instead of training to be a pilot or an astronaut or a journalist, at 17 I was I was trying to not make the same mistakes that some of my older male relatives had made; drugs, babies, jail. There’s not much to do in a small town but get into trouble.

Also by 17, I had become quite adept at navigating between three different worlds; the light skin black world, the dark skin black world and the white world. Most southern blacks are very familiar with this. But more about that later.

Don’t get me wrong, I came from a good family. Problem was that some of my peers did not. But, my grandmother watched me like a hawk. She was my and my two older sister’s babysitter and co-parent for much of our youth. “Where are you going?” “Who’s that boy’s people?” “Did you write that paper?” Those were the standard questions. I didn’t appreciate it then, but boy do I now. THANK YOU MAME (pronounced mah-me), god rest her soul!

My mother will tell you I idolized my grandmother. We watched daytime soap operas together. Even as late as high school my grandmother and I would have sleep overs at her house. We’d watch old black and white movies until the wee hours. We listened to late night radio shows. For hours we’d sit in rocking chairs on her front porch and watch the people and cars go by. Then we’d read bedtime stories together. Except, I’d read to her. She only had a fifth grade education. She died of Alzheimer’s in 1998. I miss her every day of my life.

My grandmother looked White. To this day we still aren’t sure of the exact mixture of her race. Her mother died in child birth. Her husband, my grandfather was brown and of African and French descent. They had three daughters. The middle one is my mother. I have two sisters. My father died when I was seven. My mom remarried. He died 23 years later. My mother is my best friend.

Mom, single at the time, chose an all Black, Catholic grade school for me where there was a substantial focus on “light skin” and “good hair.” There I learned a respectable knowledge of reading, writing and arithmetic. More importantly I learned that not only did white people discriminate against black people; black people discriminated against each other. Skin that was lighter than a “brown paper bag” guaranteed entrance into Creole fraternities, sororities and historically black colleges and universities. Yes, the same HBCU’s still exist today. In the Black community universities like Fisk, Spellman and Howard, among others, were openly referred to as “brown paper bag” universities. Darker blacks went to ‘Skegee,’ short for Tuskegee. It was, and still is, shameful.

In my home town, the big highway with its parallel railroad track was the dividing line. The blacks lived on the west side. The whites, on the east side. We all shared the grocery store, bank, post office and such. That’s where I first heard a white person call me a N***er. When we moved to a new home in a “white” neighborhood some parents refused to allow their children to play with me. On Sunday the Ku Klux Klan would hand out paraphernalia on the same street as my high school. The majority white high school had only been integrated a few years before I attended. I’m not sure how it happened, but while the Klan did its thing out front; inside, my classmates were electing me Senior Class President. Only the second in the school’s history. Progress. But to this day I believe the South offers Americans a most accelerated lesson on race relations.

The conundrum then was not fitting in with either the light skins or the dark skins or the whites. I had the light skin but i didn’t have the “good” hair. Sometimes I could “pass” for a light skin, especially in the winter months when my skin would lighten up. But only if my sister applied a chemical blow out to my hair. It never lasted, and always turned my brown hair bright red.

Of course there were the usual infractions from whites like getting pulled over by the cops because I was driving a nice car, getting followed around by security guards in retail stores, being ignored by restaurant and bar staff. Sadly I had to learn to accept it, even expect it. But it somehow cut to the quick when black people did it. It hurt me deeply. Hey, whose side are you on anyway? - is what I wanted to ask out loud. I never did.

Turns out Brandon the flight student is from Louisiana too. Just listening to him talk about his town, his family, his friends, his neighborhood, I can tell not much has changed there. But much of the world around him has changed, and it’s good that his family encourages him to explore it.

Brandon’s first solo flight, like both of our upbringings, was a little bumpy, but not bad. He admits he needs to work on his takeoffs and landings. Personal responsibility is important, but he wasn’t discouraged. In fact he is inspired by those challenges. And he inspired me too. At that moment it hit me; being black in America can be rocky at times, to say the least. And as much as life in some ways for many of us has stayed the same, it has also changed in just as many other ways. The point is to keep going. Like Brandon you too can change the world by changing “your” world. Thank you Brandon.