Lessons in Forgiveness~ Racism...

I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality.... I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word.  ~Martin Luther King, Jr.

Before I continue, I want to preface this by thanking my parents for doing the unthinkable: adopting a mixed race child in the South and teaching me about life, God, and how to be a productive member of society. I want to thank them for not limiting me in my abilities, for teaching me what they could about my ethnic background and heritage, and when they could not, for bringing people in my life that could, like my Mother's best friend, Ernestine Chaney. The topic of racism is not a pretty one, but I think that having such "progressive" Christian parents, in a sense, softened the blows. For those who criticized or criticize my parents for doing what they did or how they did it, they were not perfect by any means but they taught and modeled for me a good work ethic, how to persevere during hard times, and what it meant to be kind to your fellow man or woman.

I was born December, 24th, 1975 in St. Louis, Missouri at the Salvation Army's Booth Hospital to a 19 year old red head, with blue eyes of Dutch Irish ancestry.  My birth mother only had a 9th grade education and listed her occupation as that of a baby sitter and her religion as Pentecostal. Her last name was Mosley and that is all the information that I have about her. My birth father's information is a little sketchy as there was not much included.  So I entered the world with a strike against me already... I knew nothing about where I came from and to top it off, I was "mixed": Dutch Irish, Black, Hispanic, and Indonesian.  I was adopted by my adoptive parents when I was 8 weeks old.  My parents were called the day I was born and told that I was born and asked if they wanted me or not.  Obviously they said, "Yes" and then in September of 1976, when my sister Rachael was 1 month old, my adoption was completed.

I lived with my parents in a small town in Arkansas called Ozark.  I would have to say that to have a mixed race child in a small predominantly white town was probably a scary thing, but you wouldn't know it by the way that my parents were.  Yes, they were strict and I perhaps had the strictest upbringing of my siblings because I was the oldest.  Though my parents admit that they were very hard on me, I know that some of what they did was to make me the person that I am today.

My first encounter with racism happened when I was about 5 years old.  I had a little playmate named Kate that lived two doors away from us.  She as about a year younger than I was and she had a brother, James, who was older than I was by a year.  We played everything from Barbies to house to TV news.  Since we lived on a cul-de-sac, we spent most of our time playing outside in the street or riding our bikes.  We, however, were not allowed to play near the "ditch" (Drainage ditch) that was alongside her house, so I rarely ever played in her yard.  That coupled with her evil dog named Adolph (you can guess why he was named Adolph), prevented Mother from letting Rachael and me go over and play more frequently.

I had a pretty uneventful childhood until that point.  Looking back, I realized that many people in our neighborhood were alcoholics.  From the family next door to us, to the people up the street.  And as to why I never heard anyone call me names or give my parents grief about raising a mixed race child, I will never know.  Perhaps, I was shielded from it or people were too nice, I don't know. But there were two encounters with the ugly head of racism that I encountered living on that cul-de-sac in Ozark.

The first incidence was when I was playing with my friend Kate.  We were chasing each other or something, but in the midst of it, her box of Crayons was broken.  I remember her getting upset and going home.  I went in the house and Mother asked me what had happened, so I told her. She told me that I should probably go over and apologize since Kate was so upset.  So I went, begrudgingly.

Now, the other reason why my parents would not let me go over to Kate's house was because her father was known to drink, ALOT.  I just though that he was weird when I was little but looking back (and other people have confirmed this), he was quite obviously an alcoholic. To what extent, I do not know but he most obviously was. Well when I went to apologize, guess who answered the door?  Kate's father... I asked to talk to Kate and when he asked what for I said, "I am here to say sorry for breaking her Crayons".  To that he yelled, "Get off my porch you, f*****g, Nigger!"... Now mind you, I had NEVER heard that word in my whole life, but I knew it was pretty bad considering the venom that was behind him calling me that.  As I write this now, I still tear up thinking how much THAT word hurt me.  I immediately ran home sobbing.

Once my Mother got me to calm down, she asked what happened.  I told her and her face went white.  I had to explain that my mother is part Cherokee and tanned very dark during the summer and so when she went white, I knew that something was about to happen.  Next thing I knew I was told to stay in the house.  To this day, I am not sure what happened, but I do know that she went over and gave him a piece of her mind because after that point, I was not allowed over there but Kate could come over and her dad avoided me at all costs.  Knowing my mother she didn't mince words, but I will tell you that my innocence was tarnished that day and I became keenly aware that I was really different.

Now keep in mind that I have always known my ancestry and that fact that I am adopted, but my family always made me feel special about it.  That day, I felt pretty horrible and worthless. I will say that my mother did explain to me what the word meant and how horrible it was and how I, in no way, was a reflection of what that word meant.  That was the first time that I experienced a hurt that I didn't fully understand, but that wasn't the last time. Unfortunately...

A few months later, I was given a bike by my Grandpa and Grandmother Dickey.  It was a blue thing with a basket and a sparkly banana seat (remember this was the early 80's).  I was so excited because it wasn't pink (I was a tomboy and hated pink) and it wasn't a tricycle.  Now training wheel were purchased too, but I refused to let Papa and Grandpa put them on.  In fact, I was determined to learn to ride that bike in one day.... and I did.  I spend the whole day trying and trying and I learned to ride a bike with no training wheels in a day.  The only thing that I still had to work on was stopping and after running my bike in a lime bush (think a big mass with HUGE thorns) a few times, I mastered that as well.  Those suckers HURT!!!!

So one day, I was riding my bike.  I was only allowed to go up to the mailbox and then I could go no further. This girl from up the street tried pushing me off my bike and started calling me names.  Now I recognized her from the "big kids" group up the street.  Every time that I would try to get back on my bike she would push me off my bike and call me the dreaded N word.  I tried to fight her off but I got fed up because my dad had told me to turn the other cheek, and I knew that if I didn't go home, turning the other cheek would mean me hitting her as hard as I could in the cheek.  I might have been small but I could pack a pretty good punch.  Once again, I went home and told my parents. I vaguely remember that my dad was either out of town or going out of town for business, but I do know that my Mother had an altercation with this girl's mom.  The girl left me alone for the most part, but I was left wondering, "Why don't people like me for who I am?"...

I suppose that as an adult, I could rationalize why I was treated with such disgust and scorn.  In fact, I have been know to champion the underdog because I know how it feels to discriminated against and how ugly racism is.  But one thing that I am so glad that God has given me, is the ability to forgive and forgive easily.  After each of the incidences that took place, my parents were supportive of me and also went to bat for me, but let me tell you, even though it hurt, I still trusted that most people were not out to get me. I supposed I could have had a chip on my shoulder and lumped everyone together and decided that everyone who was white, from Arkansas, and in my neighborhood was racist. However, I didn't.  I even had to encounter racism in my own family! I won't go into details but I had a family member who considered me, "just a child that Ron and Teresa (my parents) are raising".

So why am I talking about this?  Well I think that all too often we are bitter and hold a grudge.  Would I have been justified in holding a grudge and being angry?  Probably, but what would it have benefited?  Probably nothing, because there are going to be people out there who are never going to change and who will always be hateful.  Did this hurt me?  Yes it did.  It took me a long time to understand and even longer to deal with.  I think though I forgave, which actually is the easy part, I still was worried that people would call me or think that I was the N-word. From a positive perspective, it has driven me to desire more and to show people that what matters on the inside is far more important than what is on the outside.

I was always told that I should forgive and forget, but I think that though the intention was good, forgiving is one thing, but forgetting is a whole other ballgame.  I don't think you should forget, per se.  I think that  you should move forward, but it would be silly to think that just because you forgave that the person or persons, will not offend you again.  Of course you can't always be looking for that.  I would say that you should forgive and be aware.  Be aware that it can happen again, but also don't walk around with a chip on your shoulder.  Being angry at the person, only hurts you.  You can wish all the bad things on them you wish, but unless you voice that, they probably aren't aware and I doubt would so why waste your time on this?

Have I had other instances where people have been blatantly racist towards me? Sure! Like when I was living in Fargo and followed around a store to make sure that I wasn't stealing. Or when I was working at a camp one summer and someone said that they didn't like to look at mixed race kids, or people in a multiethnic relationship, because it made them sick to their stomachs.  Having a  friend's mother tell me that it was a shame that I would never get married because I was mixed and if I married someone they would be quote: "unequally yoked". My favorite is being profiled while I was driving in Minneapolis for my first job after college and being asked if my car was mine (when my name was clearly on the registration). Or the nasty things that my former sister in law used to say about me being a zebra and thinking it was funny to buy me zebra cakes (I will say that in that instance, I did break and I smashed every last one of those Little Debbie's on the windshield of her car.  Not very Christ-like, but at that point I was fed up and she got the point). Or perhaps being asked if I was the nanny of my red headed, blue-eyed, daughter when I was shopping at the Mall of America. In the last two years, I had to sit at a Christmas get together and hear people talk about Hispanics (which I happen to be as well), using derogatory slang terms.  I was pretty upset because my own child was there and she is part Hispanic too!!! Now I understand how my own mother used to feel!

Do I get angry? I will admit that it does upset me, but I just look at it as a great way to educate people and also try to understand why people can be racist.  Forgiveness is easy, but how we behave AFTER forgiving determines if we really did forgive in the first place. The last thing I want to do is perpetuate as stereotype and be confident in, as Ernie (my godmother from Mississippi) says, "You don't have to do a thing: God will get them!".  If we choose to hold on to the past and the past anger, we can't be ready for and see the positives in our future. Forgiveness... try it!