a recovering racist realizes he enjoyed his position in life under Jim Crow
I am a recovering racist: I was somehow taught hate as a gift of love
I grew up in the segregated South. It took a question from an 11-year-old to teach me how I really felt about it
Did you like having your own special place in the restaurant when you were growing up? He was referring to the nicer, cleaner, air-conditioned whites only sections I sat in, while blacks had their food shoved at them through a window that opened into the alley.
Like it? I responded. At first the question seemed irrelevant. What did it matter if I enjoyed it? The point is, it was wrong. But from the way all the kids eyes lit up, I could tell the class wanted me to address the boys question. He had drawn an adult off script and they couldnt wait to see how I responded.
I knew what I was supposed to say: No. I did not enjoy it. I was supposed to tell him that it was wrong, and that its a horrible thing to discriminate against people like that. Were all losers when that happens, I was supposed to say.
But the boys instincts were right. And fifth graders know when you are lying to them.
Yes, I admitted. It felt good. I felt like I was on the winning team or voted most popular. I never thought of it before, but yes, it made me feel special.
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A girl raised her hand.
Did a black person ever have to give up her seat so you could sit down?
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I was still off balance from the first question, editing my race history to include the fact that I liked segregation for the feelings of superiority it gave me. The thought was disorienting.
Yes! I answered, and knowing where she was going with her question, I continued.
I liked that, too. To see a grown man offer me his seat because I was more important than he was a good feeling.
http://www.salon.com/2015/06/30/i_am_a_recovering_racist_i_was_somehow_taught_hate_as_a_gift_of_love/