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Love… Marcia
“Why do we need a Black History Month?”, I heard the man say. “We don’t have a White History Month. It’s like reverse racism to me.” My jaw literally dropped open. I was shocked at the statement for so many reasons:
First off, it was hard to believe that he actually thought that having a White History Month would somehow “even up” the score in this area. Good Lord… I don’t even know where to start with that.
Secondly, we were sitting near one another at church.
On top of that, a black family was sitting in the pew right in front of him. A visiting black family, no less. My guess is they never came back.
I was also kind of shocked at the boldness with which he said it, but these days, with the influence of Donald Trump, I see a brazenness to speak about others harshly with no expectation of rebuke.
FYI…I left that church soon after, never to return.
I used to think I had black friends, but in the last few years, I realized that I only knew black people. I didn’t really have black friends. Friends are people you love, check in with often, pray for, and share intimate feelings, emotions and circumstances with. You meet for dinners, know each others families, celebrate wins and mourn losses together. I’m ashamed to say that I’ve only really made true black friends in the last 10 - 12 years. Before that, I was entrenched in a white bubble.
Part of that was my fault - and part of it was circumstantial. In my southern high school, and white evangelical Christian colleges, we certainly weren’t taught much about black history. I had never even heard about the Tulsa Massacre until about 6 years ago. I wasn’t taught about Harriet Tubman, Frederick Douglass, Ida B. Wells, John Lewis or many other black heroes. Oh yes, I knew about Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King, Jr - but honestly, that was about it. And they weren’t always spoken about as heroes - sometimes, they were spoken about as mere troublemakers.
Here is a little excerpt from the chapter in my book, called “Why Diversity Matters” to explain a bit about my upbringing:
Arkadelphia, Arkansas—Population 10,123
“Like I mentioned in “My Story” at the beginning of this book, I grew up in the small Arkansas town of Arkadelphia. It was and still is a lovely town and I feel lucky to have grown up in small-town America during simpler times. I was somewhat sheltered and felt safe from “outsiders”— no stranger danger!!—but looking back I see now how homogenous my upbringing was. My parent’s friendship circles all looked very similar. Mostly white, southern, working middle class, church going, teetotalers. In recent years,
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