I didn't start out that particular morning to create racial tension in my community. It wasn't premeditated. I would have never thought that by early afternoon, I would be the poster child for racial discord. I was.
It was the mid seventies, I was a freshman in high school. And like most freshman's I was walking on foreign ground and grappling to fit in. I was a teenager, yet still a very much a child. I had reached the rebellious stage of life. I didn't want to be a treated as a child, but I was to immature to be treated otherwise. There was also a fence that separated the races in our neighborhood. It was a fence of racial divide. I don't know when it came to be. I do know children on either side were allowed to cross the fence. By the time we got to Jr and Sr high we were in the same school, but the years of the fence made us alien to each other. Like random strangers in a crowded park. You can look on the outside, but never know each other on the inside. All we saw were each others differences.
The day of the lie started out like any other day. I woke up, had breakfast groomed myself, and was off to school before it was light outside. I went to my first four classes of the day, did my work. Nothing was amiss that day at all. By lunchtime my friend Cassandra and I decided not to have lunch in the cafeteria at school. We left the school ground. Because Cassandra and I were silly, childish, and very competitive, we started tussling. We were only playing, but we were both determined to get the upper-hand. Looking back on it I realize that we were very immature for our fourteen years. Somehow in the scuffle my blouse was torn, and I got a scratch on my face. To make matters worse we were both late for our next class. I know this is no accuse for what I did next, but it is the truth. My uncle Bill a strict disciplinarian, and the only black member of the school board, is the person called when we get in trouble in school. Even the teachers would call me Bill Morris's niece and tell on me if I did anything out of line. I would spend the weekend cleaning his walls and baseboards, and listening to his slow, wordy lectures on being a productive member of society. I used to prefer a spanking from my parents than a day with uncle Bill and the walls.
So, we came up with a quick lie for our tardiness, my ripped blouse, and scratched face. We decided to tell my older sister and brother. That way when or if I got in trouble they would be a witness that I did nothing wrong. I was a victim of circumstance, and not the disobedient kid I really was. I had an earlier lunch than my brother and sister, so by the time I got back, they were in the cafeteria having lunch. I proceeded to tell them how these two big white hippie looking boys beat Cassandra and I. We had crossed the fence, and our parents worse fear had happened. We were beat, and if that wasn't bad enough, for drama affect, (and unrehearsed), I added "and they called me the "N" word." I looked over at Cassandra and she nodded her head in agreement. That's the thing about lies, they grow and produce more lies. You have no control over them once they're out your mouth. Boy, did this one grow beyond my wildest imagination.
My sister and brother took the news a little harder than I thought they would. I figured they would reprimand me for leaving the school ground, tell me it's all my fault for being disobedient and let it go. It didn't play out the way I thought it would. I just wanted an accuse, I got far more. My siblings were furious, so much so that they told not only their friends, but the school principle. Before the day was out, I had told that same lie to several different people. Mostly by nodding my head yes or no at the proper time. I pretended to be to distressed to speak, but actually I didn't want to keep lying, so I let my sister talk. I listened as she inadvertently spread a lie.
The next thing I know the lie had become a dark hole of racial tension in our quiet neighborhood. Strangers(black and white) would walk up to me and quietly ask me how I was doing. I wanted to tell the truth, but the lie had spread to wild, had gone to far. Before long that fence of fear, and hatred reached a fever pitch. The older kids in our high school, the ones that wore big Afros, with the Afro- picks, African freedom flags, and free Angela Davis tee shirts were ready to fight. My grandmother picked us up from school armed with a thirty-eight Smith and Wesson. I became a prisoner of my lie. I imprisoned our neighborhoods. There were community meetings, on keeping the children safe. The lie brought forth the hate and fear that was hidden in that fence.
Cassandra's family were one of the few black families that lived on the other side of the fence. She didn't have to witness the community meeting, the anger and fear that I witnessed. When we were alone we did discuss the lie, in a hushed whisper. We didn't understand what was in the fence. We didn't mean to unleash that beast. We never expected the anger, hate, and threats of retaliation. We had no way of understanding what that fence actually represented. She was afraid for the neighbors she loved. I was afraid for both sides of the fence. I cried myself to sleep, and prayed that no one would get hurt. Yet, we didn't retract our lie, out of fear of getting beaten worse than my torn blouse, and our tardiness would have warranted. I couldn't eat or sleep, my own conscious hurt me worse than my parents spankings, or uncle Bill lectures ever could.
Our neighborhood made national news. We became the neighborhood with the racial tension, and looming violence. The day the newsman came to visit our side of the fence, I didn't want to speak to them. They set up cameras in the park across the street from our home. My oldest sister and the neighborhood radicals called me out the house. I told my grandmother I didn't feel well. I asked her to let them know. She refused to do that. I cried. I remember her looking at me really funny. She told me I had to go out, that it was my story. I remember my legs feeling wobbly, and weak as I made my way across the street with tears streaming down my face. By the time I got to the park, some of the bigger kids were talking to the newsman. They were the most out spoken. I stood between the captain of our high school, football and basketball teams. They were the popular kids, they had the voice. I just stood there, full of guilt, shame and relief that I didn't have to tell the whole nation, the lie. I never had to speak to the newsman that day.
Yes, I was the quiet, lying child with the tear stained face on the news. The lie finally fizzled out after a few weeks. The next year after many meeting between both sides of the fence, the elementary children in both neighborhoods started being bused to the other side of the fence.
I learned that year, that my conscious is more of a disciplinarian then my parents or uncle Bill. I also learned that you can't control a lie once it's out of your mouth, and innocent people could get hurt by them. I put the incident far behind me and just thought of it recently. I was in the car with my sister and niece and out of nowhere I told the story to them. This time I told the truth. They laughed even though they were appalled at my actions. My niece asked me if I ever told the truth, and my sister said "yes, just now." My sister is right. I finally let the light shine on the lie.
Two days later, a classmate from the neighborhood, who moved right before that incident asked about that fence. He remembered us not being allowed on the other side. He asked was the neighborhood still divided. I told him the division ended with our class. That somehow we got beyond that dreaded fence, and formed bonds and friendship that have lasted to this day. I told him about the lie, and the busing the following year, starting in kindergarten. I remember being glad my younger siblings didn't have to fear the fence. I'm not saying the lie had anything to do with what happened they next year. I didn't put it together before, but when I told my old classmate the story I realized that segregation ended the following year for the younger children. I don't know why segregation ended the next year. I do know that God can use anything to break down those fallow grounds of our heart; those horrible fears, and hatred we teach our children. Maybe the fence got to thick and dark for the adults too. Or maybe I just want to believe something good can come out of my worse moments, and greatest sins.
Fearless
It was the mid seventies, I was a freshman in high school. And like most freshman's I was walking on foreign ground and grappling to fit in. I was a teenager, yet still a very much a child. I had reached the rebellious stage of life. I didn't want to be a treated as a child, but I was to immature to be treated otherwise. There was also a fence that separated the races in our neighborhood. It was a fence of racial divide. I don't know when it came to be. I do know children on either side were allowed to cross the fence. By the time we got to Jr and Sr high we were in the same school, but the years of the fence made us alien to each other. Like random strangers in a crowded park. You can look on the outside, but never know each other on the inside. All we saw were each others differences.
The day of the lie started out like any other day. I woke up, had breakfast groomed myself, and was off to school before it was light outside. I went to my first four classes of the day, did my work. Nothing was amiss that day at all. By lunchtime my friend Cassandra and I decided not to have lunch in the cafeteria at school. We left the school ground. Because Cassandra and I were silly, childish, and very competitive, we started tussling. We were only playing, but we were both determined to get the upper-hand. Looking back on it I realize that we were very immature for our fourteen years. Somehow in the scuffle my blouse was torn, and I got a scratch on my face. To make matters worse we were both late for our next class. I know this is no accuse for what I did next, but it is the truth. My uncle Bill a strict disciplinarian, and the only black member of the school board, is the person called when we get in trouble in school. Even the teachers would call me Bill Morris's niece and tell on me if I did anything out of line. I would spend the weekend cleaning his walls and baseboards, and listening to his slow, wordy lectures on being a productive member of society. I used to prefer a spanking from my parents than a day with uncle Bill and the walls.
So, we came up with a quick lie for our tardiness, my ripped blouse, and scratched face. We decided to tell my older sister and brother. That way when or if I got in trouble they would be a witness that I did nothing wrong. I was a victim of circumstance, and not the disobedient kid I really was. I had an earlier lunch than my brother and sister, so by the time I got back, they were in the cafeteria having lunch. I proceeded to tell them how these two big white hippie looking boys beat Cassandra and I. We had crossed the fence, and our parents worse fear had happened. We were beat, and if that wasn't bad enough, for drama affect, (and unrehearsed), I added "and they called me the "N" word." I looked over at Cassandra and she nodded her head in agreement. That's the thing about lies, they grow and produce more lies. You have no control over them once they're out your mouth. Boy, did this one grow beyond my wildest imagination.
My sister and brother took the news a little harder than I thought they would. I figured they would reprimand me for leaving the school ground, tell me it's all my fault for being disobedient and let it go. It didn't play out the way I thought it would. I just wanted an accuse, I got far more. My siblings were furious, so much so that they told not only their friends, but the school principle. Before the day was out, I had told that same lie to several different people. Mostly by nodding my head yes or no at the proper time. I pretended to be to distressed to speak, but actually I didn't want to keep lying, so I let my sister talk. I listened as she inadvertently spread a lie.
The next thing I know the lie had become a dark hole of racial tension in our quiet neighborhood. Strangers(black and white) would walk up to me and quietly ask me how I was doing. I wanted to tell the truth, but the lie had spread to wild, had gone to far. Before long that fence of fear, and hatred reached a fever pitch. The older kids in our high school, the ones that wore big Afros, with the Afro- picks, African freedom flags, and free Angela Davis tee shirts were ready to fight. My grandmother picked us up from school armed with a thirty-eight Smith and Wesson. I became a prisoner of my lie. I imprisoned our neighborhoods. There were community meetings, on keeping the children safe. The lie brought forth the hate and fear that was hidden in that fence.
Cassandra's family were one of the few black families that lived on the other side of the fence. She didn't have to witness the community meeting, the anger and fear that I witnessed. When we were alone we did discuss the lie, in a hushed whisper. We didn't understand what was in the fence. We didn't mean to unleash that beast. We never expected the anger, hate, and threats of retaliation. We had no way of understanding what that fence actually represented. She was afraid for the neighbors she loved. I was afraid for both sides of the fence. I cried myself to sleep, and prayed that no one would get hurt. Yet, we didn't retract our lie, out of fear of getting beaten worse than my torn blouse, and our tardiness would have warranted. I couldn't eat or sleep, my own conscious hurt me worse than my parents spankings, or uncle Bill lectures ever could.
Our neighborhood made national news. We became the neighborhood with the racial tension, and looming violence. The day the newsman came to visit our side of the fence, I didn't want to speak to them. They set up cameras in the park across the street from our home. My oldest sister and the neighborhood radicals called me out the house. I told my grandmother I didn't feel well. I asked her to let them know. She refused to do that. I cried. I remember her looking at me really funny. She told me I had to go out, that it was my story. I remember my legs feeling wobbly, and weak as I made my way across the street with tears streaming down my face. By the time I got to the park, some of the bigger kids were talking to the newsman. They were the most out spoken. I stood between the captain of our high school, football and basketball teams. They were the popular kids, they had the voice. I just stood there, full of guilt, shame and relief that I didn't have to tell the whole nation, the lie. I never had to speak to the newsman that day.
Yes, I was the quiet, lying child with the tear stained face on the news. The lie finally fizzled out after a few weeks. The next year after many meeting between both sides of the fence, the elementary children in both neighborhoods started being bused to the other side of the fence.
I learned that year, that my conscious is more of a disciplinarian then my parents or uncle Bill. I also learned that you can't control a lie once it's out of your mouth, and innocent people could get hurt by them. I put the incident far behind me and just thought of it recently. I was in the car with my sister and niece and out of nowhere I told the story to them. This time I told the truth. They laughed even though they were appalled at my actions. My niece asked me if I ever told the truth, and my sister said "yes, just now." My sister is right. I finally let the light shine on the lie.
Two days later, a classmate from the neighborhood, who moved right before that incident asked about that fence. He remembered us not being allowed on the other side. He asked was the neighborhood still divided. I told him the division ended with our class. That somehow we got beyond that dreaded fence, and formed bonds and friendship that have lasted to this day. I told him about the lie, and the busing the following year, starting in kindergarten. I remember being glad my younger siblings didn't have to fear the fence. I'm not saying the lie had anything to do with what happened they next year. I didn't put it together before, but when I told my old classmate the story I realized that segregation ended the following year for the younger children. I don't know why segregation ended the next year. I do know that God can use anything to break down those fallow grounds of our heart; those horrible fears, and hatred we teach our children. Maybe the fence got to thick and dark for the adults too. Or maybe I just want to believe something good can come out of my worse moments, and greatest sins.
Fearless
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