What a Wonderful World
While sitting in the teacher’s cafeteria Friday, nibbling happily on my meatloaf and mashed potatoes, a conversation at one end of the table caught my ear. One of the language arts teachers was relating an event in her classroom that warmed her heart. Apparently, she showed one of her classes a short video of her son wrestling another boy at a meet. Near the end of the video, one of the children asked, “which one is your son?”
Now, this is no big deal. Kids ask questions like that all the time. I gave you a black and white synopsis of the event though. Let me paint the picture for you.
Our school’s demographic is about one third white, black, and hispanic, with the occasional asian in the mix to keep everyone on their toes. The teacher (and her son) are white. The other boy in the wrestling video was black.
When she finished her story, I (the only black at the table) roared with knowing laughter. She started laughing along with me. All the others at the table just looked at us as if we’d just seen the assistant principal in his underwear.
They missed the heartwarming part. So, we explained it to them, We discussed color and orientation and religion and culture for a while and we stopped and reflected on our life experiences. Although I was the only black at the table, I wasn’t the only one that had been through a few instances of prejudice and stereotyping. When we finished, we all were content in the way the world was changing for our future generations. By the way, her son was the one “in the red outfit.”
In that class of white, black and hispanic children, all fascinated with the wrestling skills of a couple of young wrestlers… didn’t see their skin color. This is a wonderful thing. I wasn’t sure if I’d live to see such a thing. I hope this same group of kids see people interacting as they grow older and continue to not see the color.
I think they will.
The world isn’t the same place I grew up in, where someone always made a point of reminding me that I was black, and as usually happened in my house, when one of mentioned someone doing something, be asked, “what color were they?” or “they were (fill in color of choice), weren’t they?” My mother, 80 years old, still wants to know the skin color of the person that I might be talking about. She always gives the caveat of how it really doesn’t matter anymore, but she was just wondering. Its the reality she comes from; she’s having a really hard time letting go of it.
I am amused and fascinated with the blending of America, finally. I too, occasionally catch myself when I see a mixed teen couple walking hand in hand through the school building, reminding myself, that love is colorblind and at the end of the day, its the emotion that is important.
Elsewhere in the world, the same sort of thing is happening. We “see” each other as the human beings we are, not the ethnic and cultural groups we can be afraid of or find reasons to hate. We’re “growing up”.
This was a wonderful way to end the week after MLK Day. This is a good thing. THIS.. is a wonderful thing.
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