Diversity

When I was in third grade my family lived in a large apartment complex. There were no Negros or Black people there. None in my school either. My parents had a couple that were good friends. They came for a visit. They were upset. I overheard the conversation. They lived just a few miles west in a nice brick home. Someone had sold a house on their block to a Black family. They were worried the neighborhood would go downhill, their home would be worth less. They wondered if they should sell and move. They wondered if they would have to sell to another Black family. They just did not know what to do.

After they left, I asked my Dad what was going on. He explained that some people do not like Black people, they were prejudiced. I had never met or talked to a Black person. I asked if there was something wrong with them. He replied there was not any thing wrong with them, but he would not want my sister to marry one. My crap detector came on. I believed my Dad when he said nothing was wrong with them, but I realized he had some feeling that made him uncomfortable with one being in his family.

The next year we bought a house in a nice area. Still no Black people there or in my school. I was in fourth grade. Once a week we went to the library and we were read a story and could check out a book. The story was about an orphan boy living on a horse ranch in Kentucky. He loved horses and wanted to become a jockey. The third week it came out that the boy was Black.

I could no longer identify with the protagonist. I was surprised his being Black made such a difference. I was so worried that I was prejudiced. How could I be a racist? I was very upset the story was so different for me now.

Finally after much thought I realized I was not a racist. I just could not empathize with him. Never having met or talked to a Black person it was hard to imagine what it would be like to be one. My mother was Swedish. Her mom passed when she was four and she went to live with her grandmother who only spoke Swedish. She told me about Swedish words and foods. I wondered about Black people. Did they have different food? Did they have a different language? I just could not imagine what it would be like to be a Black person. It was a lack of imagination, a lack of experience, not a dislike of people I had never even met. It was such a relief!