01.20.09
Feeling the importance of the day
I am a child of the 60’s. I was born in 1955 and grew up in a very small town America. I remember clearly Hippies, LDS, Kennedy, Nixon and the whole San Francisco scene. Because I grew up in a small town in central California we were not exposed much to the racial strife of the mid 60’s. You see, our town was ‘closed’. Mostly German, old country folks live there and if you were black, you would be hard pressed to find a house to live in the city limits. There was one black family who lived in the country. Can you imagine what it would be like to be the only black kids in an all white school?
When I was in 5th grade my father took a summer job in Atlanta Georgia. He worked for a company that made molds for Firestone Tires. So off we went to Big Town America. At the time I wondered why my parents drug me all around to Civil War Era battle fields, houses, museums and the such. I don’t remember them actually talking to me about segregation, slavery and the Civil War. I had no idea why were were visiting these places. Who cared if some unknown to me general lived in this house? I really didn’t care if this field of grass was a major turning point of the Civil War. As I look back I realize my parents missed many teachable moments. I wish I could go back there now and actually absorb all the history they took me to.
My parents didn’t talk about how things were different in the South. On my own I realized something wasn’t right in Georgia in the 60’s. When we went to restaurants there were signs that said ‘no blacks allowed’. There were ‘white only’ bathrooms and drinking fountains. The public lake we swam in was ‘white only’. Even a kid of 11 could see Georgia was much different than California. One very memorable weekend jaunt we made was to tour plantations. As we drove down the road I saw beautiful houses, like in Gone With The Wind. But right next to them were shanties. Run down houses with no grass, no trees and black kids in the front with no shoes. I asked my Dad why there were such bad looking houses next to the big plantation houses. I don’t remember his reply but I do remember, at that very moment, there were people in the world who saw others with darker complexions as being lesser people.
Today I sat in front of the TV and watched as our new 44th President was sworn in. It was moving to this very ‘boiled white chicken’ woman of 53 years. It brought me back to that summer in Atlanta in the mid 60’s. Seeing the faces of those in attendance with tears running down their faces, especially the older men with the Tuskegee Airman hats, was a moment I will remember. I also thought back to my Father who had the courage (or so I like to think) to take my Mother and me to Atlanta in the 60’s with race riots and general unrest on the East Coast. Without that exposure to segregation and prejudice, I may have absorbed the attitudes of my small home town.
The future of my children and grand children rest on this man’s shoulders. Things are bad and I was inspired by his speech. The man can talk a good turn, let’s hope he can move those beside him in Washington DC to make lasting changes that will once again bring America back to a place of leadership and pride.