Ferguson

One of my earliest experiences with racism and prejudice happened in the third grade. I went to an elementary school that was a mix of whites and blacks, and halfway through the school year, my class got a transfer student named Sean. 

Sean and I became instant friends, and one day he invited me over to his house to play. I had never been invited to a friend’s house before, and I was really excited. While we were playing outside, I cut my leg on a limb and my parents had to come pick me up early. 

As we stood in the living room, there was a tension in the air between my parents and his, and I didn’t know why. On the ride back home, I asked my parents when I could go back to play with Sean, and my parents told me that I wouldn’t be able to visit anymore as Sean’s parents didn’t want me playing with him. When I asked why, my mom, who was visibly upset, replied that they were prejudiced. When Sean had asked them if I could come over, he hadn’t told them that I was black, I guess, and they had a problem with it. They hadn’t said anything overtly, but my parents could tell by the way they had acted towards the three of us.

I hadn’t even noticed that Sean and his family were white. I had friends who were black and friends who were white, and I never once thought about their skin color. So I didn’t understand why Sean’s parents had a problem with mine. All I knew was that I wouldn’t be able to spend time with my friend and how sad that made me feel.

This evening, while reading tweets about Mike Brown and Ferguson, I felt that same sad feeling again. 

It’s never us versus them–whites versus blacks, Americans versus illegal immigrants, gays versus straights, so on and so forth.

It’s always us versus us. It’s humans versus humans. Enemies who could be friends if they only looked past their differences and embraced their similarities.

It’s so simple a child can understand it.

April 13, 2014