My Grampa had an unconventional life.
He married a much younger Canadian Caucasian woman in Niagra Falls, New York in the 1960’s I think it was, could have been 70’s. I’m not too sure on their wedding date.
None the less he was an American Black man.
I haven’t done much research on racial relations in Canada but I do know there are family members of hers that wouldn’t speak to my grandfather, mother or us. There are others in her family that still see us as family even though he is dead and gone.
I remember the stories he told us about him and Gramma when they traveled the states.
As a musician he traveled extensively and his young wife always wanted to be by his side.
Sometimes that just wasn’t possible. They couldn’t go everywhere together as a mixed race couple.
That was in the 60’s and 70’s.
Here’s a quote from Wikipedia on my Grandfather’s life:
“In 1962, Norman released his biggest charting single, “I Don’t Love You No More (I Don’t Care About You)”, which reached #21 on the Billboard “Black Singles” chart and #47 on the “Pop Singles” chart.[5]“
That’s how it was. There was a ‘Black Singles’ chart and a ‘Pop Singles” chart. -_-
I also know how things were when I was growing up perceived as an African American child in this great city.
When I was a child in the 80’s there were stares and whispers when we went out as a family.
My Grandfather obviously a black man, his wife a white woman, a woman who was about the same age as his wife who appeared to be mixed with one light skin and one dark skin child who both appeared to be African American in tow.
As a family?
We were upper middle class/middle class when we presented as a family in public. (Our actual dynamics were actually another story.)
We put on a good face when we stepped out.
We were all very well spoken, us as children were well behaved, well groomed, we all dressed well, Grampa had money it showed, and we were still stared at.
Crazy the race issues we had to deal with.
We lived in a primarily Caucasian neighborhood, went to Caucasian schools and had Caucasian friends growing up.
We weren’t white though. That was apparent.
Caucasian children can be very, very mean to black children. They only know what they learn at home and kids don’t know politically correct.
We weren’t stupid as children and we could hear very well. People say the darndest things around children. For some reason adults think children don’t understand the things they say. Trust me, they do. The things adults said around and to us as children of color were just plain hurtful.
I grew up torn over my skin color and heritage despite my Grampa and mommy reassuring us that black was beautiful and educating us on ourselves from Ashanti fables to African dolls. Still, being black in New York City hurt.
Sometimes I hated ‘being black’ because all it did was bring me problems, problems that were in this world before I got here and problems I couldn’t do anything about.
We discovered very young the world wasn’t nice to black folks.
That was New York City 1980’s.
I grew up with the worst kind of racism, the smile in your face whisper loudly while walking away kind of racism.
Grampa said these folks in NYC weren’t nearly as bad as the folks down south. I didn’t believe him. I told him times have changed and racism wasn’t that rampant through the states anymore.
I moved to Tennessee myself at the age of 24. I lived in Red Bank with my then husband who was just as black as a Nigerian. He and his entire family were all born and raised in a nearby town. We moved to TN to get a change of pace and be closer to his family.
It was there I experienced my first direct racism.
I love jewelry. My husband took me to the local pawn shop which was the only place to buy jewelry in the town. When we entered there was one person at the counter speaking to the sales woman behind the counter. As we waited in line two more white people came in and lined up behind us. When the sales woman was done with the white person in front of us she called “Next!” over our shoulder inviting the white man behind us to the counter. My husband and I looked at each other incredulously. I mentioned to the sales woman we were next in line. She ignored me as if I hadn’t spoke and continued to beckon the man behind us forward. He stepped forward as if he agreed with her decision to not service us, he did not say “They were next, go ahead and take care of them first.” or anything at all. He began to shop with the sales woman smiling and conversing with him as if we were invisible.
An older gentleman then came out the back of the shop and opened the register next to us and called out next to the white man who was left behind us. We walked to the older gentleman’s register beating the white man there before he could say a word. The old man behind the counter turned and walked away without ever saying one word. The white man went back to his position in line behind the other white man being serviced.
As my mother’s child I held my composure and dignity. My ex husband, the son of a NYU professor, did the same. He experienced direct blatant racism from the crew he worked with daily while we were in Red Bank, TN. As a man it was hard to deal with without defending himself. As his wife it was hard to watch him suffer through the name calling and taunting from his crew.
Ultimately we moved. (Not just due to the racism but it had a large part to do with the events that led up to us moving.)
As I got older I experienced corporate racism as a Marketing Manager, my ex husband also as a Financial specialist. Both were ‘white’ worlds in this city where we as ‘black’ people excelled.
I’ve experienced housing discrimination due to blatant racism. Certain areas in NYC and other cities won’t rent to black folks or have qualification requirements designed to weed out black folks from minimum credit score to minimum income ‘standards’ to just plain ole “We don’t have anything availablne at this time, check back with us later.” after responding in person to a real estate agency after reading an ad listing of available apartments.
I am now 35 years old and I see so much racism on so many levels in this country and it’s so widespread. I’m learning to teach my children how to navigate the world while maintaining dignity, without developing hatred and harboring injustices in their hearts.
Racism just done much smarter nowadays than “dragging a nigger down a dirt road with a rope around his neck”.
The world I live in is not one that is designed for us as those who are of ethnic origin to excel in.
We were once Kings and Queens, we have overcome and we have steadily and continuiously broken chains and risen above expectation.
We have become all we were once said we could not become. Doctors, lawyers, chemists, educators, inventors, politicians and so on.
That was never supposed to be for descendants of slaves in this country.
We were brought to these states to only be slaves with no value as actual humans to become a part of the society we were building on our backs.
Just because we’ve been given leeway and inspiration through political progress does not mean we are free.
We are not.
We are still hunted and persecuted at the most basic of levels while living daily life in so many ways.
From unfair voting laws still in existence to low quality schools, biased health care, employment and housing discrimination, and the list can go on.
Let’s not forget the troops of hunters out there with badges and guns.
We are at the mercy of those who enter the police force only to satisfy their racist hatred for the communities in which they work.
Not all cops are bad. A lot are.
It’s those who survive persecution despite all odds being against us with sanity in tact who become the successful ones.
I know the struggle, from the inside and out.
I was raised immersed in whiteness with brown skin.
I am now a part of the revolution.
It is coming.
How strong will it be is the question.
Thing is, will we really make changes as we did in the 60’s?
For each change we make toward progress ‘they’ think of another way to implement the same thing they’ve been doing since we first came off the boats.
Will we ever be able to really overcome?
Will we ever really be free?
I remember the day Barack Obama was elected into office.
Grampa and I sat on the couched, whooped, hollered and yes, we cried together.
He never thought we’d see a president with slave blood in his veins.
I’m grateful he’s not here to see the state of our country at present.
I know he’d think we went right back to square one.
I’m glad I don’t have to see that pain in his eyes.
-Jay Dee
Coming From Truth 