brain unload

so my facebook status the other day was about how i tend to think about heavy stuff too much and then get frustrated b/c there doesn't seem to ever be an easy fix. some people teased me about it, others said they felt the same and offered an ear anytime i wanted to ponder the deeper stuff.

so my current thought right now (and what caused the status in the first place) is this book i'm reading. it's called "The Help" by Kathryn Stockett. we read it in a book club i'm in. i hadn't read it yet when the meeting was held. i got to hear everyone's thoughts about this topic before reading it. i'm by far the youngest member of the book club, but most everyone is younger than my mom. (most are in their early -mid 50s, with a couple who are older than that) most grew up not only in the South, not only in Nashville, but in this very neighborhood. my neighborhood is a Dupont Company town, so some people's families have been here since WWI.

the meeting started out with someone asking how many people grew up with help (a black maid, or a black lady to do at least some help around the house). all but 3 people raised their hands. one was myself, one was a lady who had grown up in indiana and another was from atlanta. WHAT? did i mention that these women are younger than my mom? if they had grown up in the 30s or something, i could understand. but as late as the early 70s? these middle class women had "help."

i was just shocked. and there's really no point in going over all my feelings about this. you all get taht. and i can't really give you all the reasons why, but the small town in ohio where i grew up was just about as colorblind of a place as it gets. i truly didn't see color. i don't remember a black side of town or seeing black kids all sit together at lunch. we all just inter-meshed. that's not to say that it was homogenized, either. i understood there were differences in culture and traditions. my parents had several black friends and we often visited black churches with them. i never felt wary of a person just because of their skin color and never felt that a black person was uncomfortable with me because of my whiteness. i rarely heard people saying things like "i'm not racist, but....." and i never heard anyone say "white people are crazy because they...."

it was when i moved to west tennessee for college that i heard a girl say "i've never seen a black person in real life until now." it was in college that i saw a real divide between the races. i don't know if the north really is that different from the south, or if my town was just a bubble, or if i was just naive. but i feel like the world i'm in is moving backwards. i see more and more racist things all the time. last year, jared was assigned to be one of a few speakers at a toastmasters meeting. the topic was Black History Month. a black girl got up and spoke. then jared got up and spoke and echoed many of the same ideas. jared showed and discussed this clip . the girl took him to HR.

but what really frustrates me is this rut that we're stuck in. i want to go back to the color-tolerance i had growing up. i understand that the south is different on this issue, but i was hoping it would be moving toward a better place. but i just see the same cycle going around and around again. i see a deep divide here. i see a new generation of racism on both sides with plenty of justifications and excuses to go around. and i so wish i didn't.

i guess the root of it all is this: the story of pandora's box is true. humanity opened a horrible box when we brought slaves from africa. i know slavery has always existed, but i'm directly affected by the slavery that started in england and then moved to the united states. we opened this box in the name of greed and..i don't know what..entitlement? superiority? inferiority? and 145 years after the US abolished slavery (probably without going about it the right way) we can't undo the damage that was done. the scar is still there..very visible and angry and is irritated once in a while. not unlike an old injury that throbs before a rain comes.

i don't know what to do about it, other than live my life in a kind way. which is what we should do. but i hate that more of us aren't there yet. i hate hearing "i'm not racist, but.." and followed by a horrible statement.

i'm proud to be from my little bubble of a town. i'm proud that my parents don't have stories of black mammies, but instead of a graduating class vowing that either they ALL go or they none go on their senior trip to washington DC (it was 1965 and the trip planners in DC advised that the black students stay home b/c tensions were high there. the class ended up going and the black students went everywhere the white students went.) i'm proud that the historical buildings in my town were stops on the underground railroad. i'm proud that i didn't realize racism existed in my generation until i was nearly 20 years old. i'm ashamed to learn that it, in fact, does.

so right here in between martin luther king jr day and black history month, i'm restating that we are ALL made in the image of God. Jesus died for ALL of us. we ALL have our journey and challenges. and all we can do is offer love and kindness to others.