Number 175

 My Black Best Friend

This post is about race. Except I'm not sure that it is.

Did Kevin and I become best friends in fourth or fifth grade? I honestly don't remember. It was the mid 1970s, and the two of us, along with a few hundred others, attended East Elementary School in Urbana, Ohio. Urbana was (and basically remains), a town of just north of 10,000 folks in west-central Ohio. Most of the people who lived there were White, but there was a sizable minority of Black people as well. At the time I didn't understand the sociological implications of integration vs. segregation; or the deep, vile roots of systemic racism that have permeated our country throughout its entire history (suck it, Texas et al.), but it was readily apparent that most of the Black folks lived in neighborhoods in the southern part of the town. In fact, as far as I can recall, Kevin and his twin sister Sheri were the only Black kids in our grade at East.

As a White kid, assigned male at birth, what did I know about race relations, racial prejudice, or just racism in general back then? What did any of us know? In general my parents brought me up to be respectful of all people. However, I heard (and retold), jokes in which Black people were the butt of the joke. The same was true about folks who were Polish, Irish, Italian, Jewish, Asian, Hispanic, etc. (Way to punch up, Nora.) Additionally, I heard and occasionally repeated derogatory terms for the minority groups listed above. Sometimes I didn't even know they were ugly slurs, but I at least felt vaguely uncomfortable when I did. Is it at all mitigating if I tell you my behavior was an ignorant reflection of the culture I was raised in, and not mean-spirited? 

On the other hand, despite the casual racism associated with 'jokes,' I heard and retold, I was not raised in an overtly racist household. Black athletes were celebrated equally with White ones (if they wore the uniform we were rooting for). The only two-time winner of the Heisman trophy, Archie Griffin, played football for Ohio State (Go Bucks!), and was a huge hero in our house. I was not taught to think of Black entertainers and/or actors as being inferior to White ones. In fact, one of the first television shows I can remember watching together as a family was the Flip Wilson Show. (A comedian who happened to be Black). 

I'm sure I was aware that the enslavement of Black Americans was a historical fact by the time I met Kevin. I have a clear memory of watching Cicely Tyson's moving performance in the television movie The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman (1974). In it she plays a 110 year old Black woman born into slavery. At the point that the movie's climax takes place - the early 1960s - she has lived long enough to play a part in America's Civil Rights movement. In a powerful act of civil disobedience, she drinks from the town's 'Whites only' drinking fountain. I can only surmise that I was moved by the movie's portrayal of the many injustices through which she had to persevere. In any event, by the time I was ten, I had certainly started to realize that "race" was a thing.

These days, I am a 55 year old caucasian woman trying to come to terms with race in a world that witnessed four police officers murder George Floyd with the same sense of casual detachment that one might use to peruse a restaurant menu. And so I reflect back on my friendship with Kevin a great deal, as if there might be a secret there that remains undiscovered. We were two different races, sure, but we never discussed it. It was simply an unacknowledged fact. My parents never mentioned his race to me, and although I was never privy to private conversations between him and his parents, they never made me feel conspicuous about the color of my skin when I was in their home. As far as I understood, there was nothing ambiguous about our relationship. We were just two kids who, because we liked spending time together, became best friends.

In any event, before I entered seventh grade, my family moved away from Urbana. Who knows how our relationship would have developed as we got older? Perhaps our respective ethnicities would have become a topic of conversation between us. Almost assuredly it would have. Would that have changed things between us? The ebbs and flows of friendships that all of us navigate in our teen years dictates that Kevin's and my relationship would have changed in some way regardless of the difference in our skin colors.

I also want to acknowledge that Kevin, quite possibly, perceived our relationship in a manner much different than me. Not just because he was black; but because he was a wholly autonomous person who was allowed to have his own thoughts and feelings. However, I don't think it's a big jump to assume that his world view, even though he was still a child, was influenced by the color of his skin. Also, his experience living on the east side of Urbana, where his family was the only non-white family in the neighborhood, was probably substantially different than mine.

These days, I think I'm a pretty good ally. I am aware of the many advantages and privileges I've had in my life, and try to use them to help achieve long-lasting, equitable societal change. I acknowledge that systemic racism is a real thing, and I support policies that work to eliminate these inequities. I try to listen more often than I speak. I pay attention to those moments when I feel uncomfortable during conversations about race. However, it's also understood that, despite my best efforts, I fail as often as I succeed. If nothing else, my parents will be happy to know that I do a pretty good job of treating other folks with dignity and respect, regardless of their skin pigment.

Still, I can't help but wonder what it was that my ten year old self knew that my 55 year old self no longer understands. Our friendship was so simple and pure back then. And it's not that I'm suggesting that Kevin and I could never be friends again - only that our different races would now be a challenge we would need to acknowledge if our relationship was to have any chance of succeeding. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I don't know.

Was this a post about race? I still don't know.