Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, February 12, 1995 TAG: 9502100050
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: CODY LOWE
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
Proudly outfitted in new Christmas cowboy boots that matched his father's, Jimmy wanted to be where the men were. He buzzed back and forth through the packed house, as unavoidable as a yellow jacket at a July picnic.
His sweet spirit is often masked by a stubborn streak. Despite continuous warnings against it, he persists in trying to do everything the grown-ups do.
If Daddy's working on the car, Jimmy crawls underneath - repeatedly - until he's banished to the kitchen. If Mama's at the stove, he wants to reach up for a pan. Sent off to play with the dog, Jimmy teases him by hiding his food. Then, snatched from the jaws of death, he settles for a few minutes when his dinner plate is set in front of him.
This particular Sunday afternoon, Jimmy's in the living room with the men - his favorite atmosphere - eating in front of the television and the National Football League game of the week.
His aunt tucked a napkin into his shirt collar and started teasing him about pre-school.
"Did Jimmy tell you about his girlfriend?" she asked one of the boy's uncles.
Jimmy started to blush.
"Is she pretty?" somebody asked.
"She's black," the aunt said with a grin.
Jimmy blushed a little. He's only 4, so he didn't really understand why, but he knows that at least some of the adults he's around think it's "funny" for a little white boy to be sweet on a little black girl.
"Black!" another one of his uncles blurted out through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "You ain't no nephew of mine, then."
Jimmy's blush deepened, and he turned his grin into his chest. "She ain't my girlfriend," he said, hoping to regain the approbation of his kin.
I bit my tongue. Hard.
This wasn't my family, I reminded myself. My childhood training to be polite smothered my urge to tell Jimmy I'd be glad to be his uncle no matter what color his girlfriend is. My conditioning to avoid conflict stifled my question for his uncle: "What kind of fool are you?"
I don't really know the man who made the remark, though he had given me a nice gift earlier in the day. My Southern manners, imbedded as deep as if by pile-driver, wouldn't let me insult a stranger in somebody else's house.
Instead I started to choke on food that only a moment before had seemed like a feast fit for gods.
I took my plate the kitchen, sneaked out the back door to the car, and hit the pavement headed for nowhere.
For 15 miles, I beat myself with a barrage of questions: Why didn't you speak up? What kind of moral cowardice are you NOT capable of? How have you been seduced into silence in the face of racism, a sin you've condemned all your adult life? What was I supposed to do?
Not only was I regretting again my inability to come back with a snappy retort, but even after driving mile after mile I couldn't come up with a decent come-back for that guy.
I believe now I was unable to respond primarily because I was so angry about that casual remark. Jimmy's uncle didn't care whether anybody else in the room might be offended. Worse, he willfully passed on that racism to a defenseless child in a sinister comment that never directly told the boy he should hate blacks, only that he would be subject to ridicule and shame among his own folk if he associated with a little girl whose skin was darker than his own.
If I could re-live the moment, I would go ahead and tell the boy I'd be honored to be the "uncle" he could introduce his girlfriend to. His real uncle would just have to deal with the unspoken insult. I would just have to try to tiptoe around any hostility and risk needing to apologize to our hosts.
The problem is, I'll never get that particular opportunity again and may never be able to counteract a strong lesson in racism for a little boy who had the audacity to let his family know he liked a little girl.
by CNB