Roots - part 1

I was born pretty poor, I guess. My parents were much, much too young to have a child, and the circumstances of my birth were difficult. In spite of the challenges, they worked hard and built a good life for us. I guess without realizing it, I learned a work ethic that has served me well. I honestly can't remember ever being taught, but I guess that proves that what we do has more impact on our kids than what we say.

Yes, they were white. I'm sure that helped, or at the least, eliminated an entire class of problems that others have faced. In the end, however, it was not their color, but their commitment to family, values, and work that got us where we ended up. How do I know this? Because I see many white families from similarly humble beginnings, and some affluent as well, that never achieve much in life. Almost without exception, they tend to have an attitude of entitlement and/or a complete lack of motivation. I have never known that to serve anyone, regardless of color.

As for me, well, my early childhood was pretty unremarkable. We moved frequently due to my father's job, and it was hard to put down roots. There were many forgettable places and schools, at least until the early 70s when we moved to Jackson, Mississippi. From 3rd through the 8th grade, I was one of a large number of white kids that were shipped across town to integrate black schools. While undoubtedly a difficult thing for my parents, I never remember a single racist word from them. It was really odd; I existed in a very race aware environment, and while I was aware of race, it didn't feel...well...racist. As with many older people, my grandparents weren't quite so innocent, but the irony was that they had black friends...but to hear them tell it, their black friends were 'different'. Funny how that works.

During my time in Jackson, I played clarinet in a substantially black marching band. Yeah, I know...great picture, huh? White guy...clarinet...strutting and high stepping with the black kids. And yet, given the amazing resilience of youth, it seemed normal. In retrospect, I probably had more trouble with the inter-city white kids than I did with the black kids. I think that in Mississippi, especially in those days, there was an accepted distance between blacks and whites, and while I came from the 'good end of town', they didn't seem to resent that. The white kids from downtown, however, didn't seem quite as accommodating.

While I was eventually accepted, it didn't come automatically. The black kids came from a very different culture...one that insisted that you prove your mettle...and that was foreign to me. Once you had proven yourself...once you had fought, gotten or given a black eye or two, and showed that you would not back down, you gained respect. Even though I really wasn't raised that way, in time conflict came, the challenge was met, and the respect was earned.

Through all of that, I never considered that I was racist. I don't remember ever using the 'n' word, although I'm sure that if I did, it was with my black friends and I'm quite sure they responded with a similarly jovial 'honky' or 'cracker' or whatever. Never was it used in hatred, and never as something to divide...but only in the spirit of 'play that funky music...' and in an innocent celebration of the diversity that God had created.

Odd the things that you remember. We were traveling from Mississippi to Tennessee, I'm guessing we were somewhere in Alabama, and we came upon a black family whose car had broken down. It was late at night, long before the advent of mobile phones, and they were far from an exit. My parents stopped to help. If memory serves, the man's name was Clement Turnipseed and his wife was Victoria. Somehow I can't see that happening today.

So what's the point of this trip down memory lane? I'm not really sure, I just felt like taking the trip. I guess it is that I feel more racist today than I did then, during what is widely regarded as some of the harder times in race relations. Why? Don't know. My Christian faith is is fundamentally clear...we are all created in the image of God, and before Him we are all equal. So clearly, any sense of racism is not from an internal source, because it simply is not in my nature to be that way.

Then why do I have a greater sense of race awareness now than ever before? I guess because I resent that middle-aged white guys are constantly attacked as being racist. I'm not, mind you, but the barrage of talking heads that prattle on and on about how hard it is to be black, or brown, or gay, or whatever, has finally pushed me to the breaking point. Well, maybe not to the breaking point, but definitely to the point of getting a bit irritable about it all.

We are branded as extreme if we pray, own guns, send our kids to Christian schools, believe that certain things are wrong in God's eyes, and feel that we are over-taxed and under appreciated. I'm not a member of the Tea Party, but I would say that my feelings mirror the majority of them. They are not racist either, but like me, they have been told that they are so many times that I bet they are starting to believe it too.

You know, I don't want to be that way...but they keep hammering and hounding. Eventually, they are going to convince us. Eventually, we will quit taking the moral high road and become exactly what they tell us we are. Or not. I pray not. I ask for God's strength to remain steady in the face of real intolerance...because real intolerance isn't middle-aged white guys...it's those that hype race troubles to further their own agenda. Who? You know them. The ones that come running first and yell the loudest when there is the slightest possibility that somebody has been offended. I'd say that if that is the best thing they can do with their time, they really need to find another job.

Honestly, can you imagine if there were a Congressional White Caucus? Or the United Caucasian College Fund? What about a European-American Civil Rights leader? Or a National Association for the Advancement of Really Pale People? Somehow I think there would be a bit of an outcry. Which is not to say that I don't feel the need for advocacy, because I do. The problem is that race has become the focus, not advocacy, and it seems that to keep from dealing with their failure to produce results, they have chosen to pick fights. Pay no attention to the failed social program behind the curtain.

So, are middle-aged white guys racist? Truthfully, most of us are too busy earning a living and taking care of our families to give it much thought. It sure is a good thing that those experts brought it to our attention...