Growing up Racist

Yesterday was Martin Luther King Jr. Day, and as I’ve stared at my computer screen, sifting through quotes and posts about how our world has changed I grow more and more angry. Which is confusing because anger is not the emotion I should be holding. 

Anger should not be my reaction to a day marked in history that has brought our world together, and yet, it is….

I grew up in a small town of only 2,000 people, set on strips of farm land with homes sprinkled between fields of corn and soybeans. Apart from those there were bits of land reserved for livestock, mostly pigs. In town there was the factory, which housed most of the town’s employment opportunities. It wasn’t a bad place, but it lacked diversity. It lacked difference.

What I’ve come to realize about my home was that prejudice was carried no differently than family traditions. It was passed on from generation to generation like last names. It was given and taught and never challenged.

I grew up confused about how I felt about it, listening to jokes, believing stereotypes. I never questioned these things growing up. Why would I? My parents never really spoke about big issues. I knew they didn’t harbor the same feelings as those around us, but it was also never brought up. Never challenged. And why would it be when the only people of color in town are the children adopted by white families? I remember people even saying that those children were “white”. They were raised white, educated white, spoke white. As if that was somehow different than anything else. But again, being sheltered in that land, I didn’t know different…

When I reached high school, I started to become more and more offended by my school and the teachings of my home. It lacked diversity. It didn’t teach or welcome difference. If you weren’t a southern kid with country values, you didn’t belong. Personally, I always felt that my family didn’t belong there. They had moved there from Mattoon when I was little and just never left. I often wish they had stayed in Mattoon; that I had seen things differently or was exposed to different things. I think back to my own lack of perspective and am grossly offended.

The day that did it for me was in a history class my Junior year of High School. We had to pick an amendment and make a drawing representing what it meant and present it to the class. That day still haunts me. Being in such a rural area, we didn’t have much diversity at all, just a few kids who had been adopted from other countries, but we did have one student of color; a black girl from a bigger area who was living in a foster home nearby. That in itself bought her unwanted attention and I couldn’t hate myself any more than right now, knowing that I never befriended her or took the time to get to know her. On this particular day, in this history class two boys drew a representation of lynching with a black man hanging from a tree. If that weren’t enough, they laughed through their entire presentation, making light of something as horrific as murder. I waited for the teacher to scold them, reprimand them, send them to the principal’s office. I waited…….but it never came. No comments were made, no one protested, no one stood up or said anything. Silence.
That was the day I knew I was going to leave that town and never come back.

Why didn't anyone say anything? No one protested or reprimanded those boys for making a careless, demeaning joke at the expense of an ENTIRE RACE?? Why didn’t I say anything??? I could have easily made a big fuss, stood up, ripped up their drawing, stormed out of the classroom……..but instead I sat quietly, staring at the lost girl in the back of the room, praying she wasn’t paying attention to their joke, praying she didn’t feel the hatred they were showing, wishing she lived somewhere else with more people like her so she wouldn’t feel so alone.

As a social worker, I see this prejudice every day. It never ever stops. As if the prejudice against foster children isn't enough....I have watched schools in small towns punish black children too harshly while their white peers get off scott free. I have called schools out on it, had meetings, called our educational liaison with the state, and yet, I’m still seeing it. Still making these calls. Still arguing with people. Still trying to prove it exists when everyone else says it doesn’t. Nothing changes.

I have done behavioral casework for nearly 3 years, and in this time, I have had an abundance of teenage boys run through my caseload, nearly all of which have been black. I’m not even going to say “African American”, because they have corrected me enough times that “black” is just the term. 

These boys have had hard lives and I’ve learned that being frank with them is the only way to save them. The minute they start to cause problems or are headed on a path that will get them in trouble, I have a talk with them. Something along the lines of, “I’m going to be real with you because we live in a pretty unequal world and it doesn’t look like it’s going to change anytime soon. This is southern Illinois and eyes are on you. The eyes are on you not just because you’re young or male or a foster kid, but also because you’re black and people are often going to look for a reason to not like you. Don’t give them one. You have to work harder to prove you’re not a stereotype. You have to prove people wrong and while it’s not fair to put all that on your shoulders, this is the world we live in.” I get stressed out having to have this talk, but I have seen many black foster parents having the same conversation with these boys.

This is the world we live in. It’s stupid. It’s unfair. And I hate it.

I have dated a few different men of color. The first was a Saudi Arabian guy who grew up in Dubai. He didn’t really have an accent and spoke impeccable English, but he was still brown and he stuck out. Dating him bought a lot of comments and stares and people questioning my safety. Literally questioning my safety! I don’t know what exactly gives someone the right to judge my relationship with my partner, but the world seems to love to throw out comments and abuse jokes, like he was going to put me in my place or punch me if I disobeyed him. But honestly? He was probably the most sensitive guy I’ve ever dated and incredibly polite. He was the guy who’d give you the shirt off his back. 

After that relationship ended, my friends felt like they could make even more jokes at his expense. Racist, prejudicial stereotypes that were incredibly insensitive. I love my friends, but even being that I broke up with him, he didn’t deserve that.


Most recently, I was in a serious relationship with a black man. Something I never thought twice about, going in. He was incredibly smart, well read, could always make me laugh. The relationship worked for so many reasons and our skin colors were never a factor. I know, shocking!
I don’t think I paid too close attention to the hatred on interracial relationships until I was actually in one. Even just insensitive comments about what our children would look like; like the tone of their skin or the type of hair my baby would have or whether or not my child would play basketball. Seriously? My boyfriend wasn’t even that tall, and while I’m sure he was pretty athletic in his youth, he wasn’t a die-hard basketball fan. If anything, he was a baseball fan, and the thing I think he was the best at was comedy or articulating his thoughts. Who the hell cares if our kid plays sports? Or if we even HAVE kids?? 

And the comments just kept coming. The most shocking were the ones from family members. People I never once took to be racist, suddenly had opinions that made me uncomfortable. Things that worried me about bringing him near, for fear of how they might hurt him. While I knew my parents were supportive, I still wanted to protect him from the comments others might make. No one ever made assumptions like that with anyone else I dated, why was the idea of dating someone of color so different?

Suddenly I began paying more attention to the reaction people have when a black man enters their space. Like the way they shift to the other side of the elevator or lock their car doors. So many things I never once noticed, suddenly became so obvious, and it shattered me daily. It bothered me to know that those were his experiences and things he had to live with on a daily basis. It bothered me to know that one day his son would go through those same things and face the same struggles the boys on my caseload have. 

I have so many amazing friends of all different colors, shapes, sizes, race, and ethnicities. I love them all dearly and I celebrate our differences. I love experiencing different things with them, and learning from them. Martin Luther King Jr. fought hard to show the world we are all equal and fought for segregation and racism to end. While some things have changed and segregation is mostly a thing of the past, racism still exists. People are still making comments, jokes they think are harmless, getting upset over difference. 

I fear for my own children. I don’t know if my children will be black or white or some other ethnicity. I don’t know where I’ll raise them or who my partner will be, but what I do know is that I want a child who doesn’t quietly sit in a classroom, staring at the girl in the back of the room, praying she wasn’t hurt by the words of the ignorant…

"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter....In the end we will not remember the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."
-Martin Luther King Jr.