HOW BAD CAN LEAD TO GOOD

I was going to go with lighter fare today but response to Clara's comment has moved this post up the ladder. She and the election has brought up a turning point in my life I am not proud of, but since it made me what I am, I don't regret the results, just the actions. This may be a long story so if you have something better to do, go for it, otherwise, a cup of coffee may help.


I am the daughter of white supremacists. No, not the skin head variety, but of people who definitely felt they were the superior race. My parents came from slave holders. My brothers actually got to sit on the lap of Julia who had been my mother's nanny. She was in her ninety's then. She and her husband George were former slaves who had stayed with our family when the emancipation came. They both lived into their late ninety's. She passed before I was born.


While my parents truly felt superior, they would never tolerate cruelty. If a sibling used the "n" word, he was punished. Any derogatory remarks were met with instant rebuke. They were kindly but none the less, felt they were superior and that blacks were just not quite human. We were to treat the blacks as we would a pet. With kindness but to know they were beneath us.


I never saw a black person up close and personal till the 3rd grade. It was a rural area in Ohio. Our school was very small. Approximately 10 kids per class and two classes per room. The Henry family moved into our area that year. There was one Henry child per class. We rode the same school bus and it was fun each morning as the bus had to wait while one Henry after another ran down the long hill towards the bus. You could just see a harried Mrs. Henry trying to get all 8 kids ready for school.



Henrietta, as I will call her, was in my class. I was fascinated with her for as I said, she was my first experience with blacks. I noticed she always kept to her self so one day, I took my jacks over to her and asked her to play. She was blessed with a marvelous sense of humor , creativity and quickly became my favorite playmate. This only went on for a week or so when I was pulled aside by my classmates.


"My mother said I can't play with you anymore." informed Mary Ann as the rest of my friends bobbed their heads in agreement.


"Why" I asked totally stunned.


"Because you play with Henrietta." was the only explanation. " Unless you stop, we can't be friends." Again the heads bobbed in unison and they walked away.


I didn't know what to do so I brought the subject up at the family dinner that night. Race had not really been discussed in my presence till then. I was stunned when my parents agreed with my friends. I tried to explain how nice Henrietta was and that I liked her. She was just like me only with a better tan. They carefully drew the lines of behavior expected of me.


The next day, I walked up to Henrietta and sadly told her my decision. " I can't play with you any more" I told her and gave her the reasons.


Tears formed in her dark eyes and she only said," I thought you were different." and she walked away.


Henrietta and I never made up but from that day forward I carried a terrible burden. I tried to bridge the chasm many times but the hurt I caused would not allow it. The Henrys eventually moved away.


What it did do for me was to vow at that young age, never to let others do my thinking for me, even my parents. In the years to follow, I became a beloved thorn in my parents side. We never agreed on race relations but we continued to love each other. My guilt and disapproval of injustice drove me to actively promote tolerance. They continued to shake their heads about the stubborn daughter.


Henrietta, where ever you are, I am so sorry, but I thank you for opening my eyes.