I grew up on a chicken farm on a dirt road five miles from town in rural Maryland. I was the only child of Finnish immigrants. My parents had many friends, mostly Finns, Swedes and Danes who were also farmers in that area. They held regular dances and other social activities. My parents often had company for dinner.
My pals were the children of other farmers in the area. We swam in the creeks, fished in the Chesapeake Bay, played softball and badminton, and rode our bikes for miles. We climbed trees and built clubhouses where we met and read comic books. We explored the woods and walked the old railroad tracks.
But one thing puzzled me: there were lots of different kinds of people in our area. Why were the black kids sent to a different school in the country seat? Why didn’t they go to school with the rest of us? Why were they not allowed to eat in our diner or shop in our stores?
My parents came from a country far, far away across the ocean, yet I fit right in with my blonde hair and blue eyes. But the black people who had been here for several generations did not. I couldn’t understand it and no one could answer my questions. “It’s just the way the Americans do it”, said my father, not wanting to make waves.
I never once spoke to a person of color until I went away to college. They seemed fine to me when I met a black professor or a fellow student.
As I progressed through adulthood, I learned the history of this country. As times and traditions changed over the years, I welcomed the new openness of our society.
Today, I have persons of color in my neighborhood. I have worked, played golf, attended church, gone to lunch and dinner, and served on committees with folks of every race. They are my friends and fellow human beings.
We are all born with different gifts and talents. Some of us sing and play music. Others write books, do accounting, teach, mentor, and coach. We can all love. We can all help each other.
Let’s do it!