What's Wrong With Your Girl? A Guest Post

                              Photo is not the location of the incident.


I've previously shared here about the experiences of racism and bigotry that I endured as a kid when my parents and I lived in a small Midwestern town back in the 1970's. 

Aside from that era my life, (well, except for that time I had a Russian boyfriend and his family made it clear that having an American friend was just fine, but a woman who was both Black and American was most definitely not good enough to marry. But I digress.) I had not experienced obvious racism as an adult.

That changed last week. Although at the time, I didn't actually know it was happening.  Below, is a guest post from my husband, aka MickGee. 

My Black wife, our son and I (White guy) were traveling east on the 299 Fwy heading inland from the coast. After about 2 hours on winding mountain roads, we arrived at a small town 2/3 of the way to our destination. My beautiful bride and our 11-year-old son needed to stop and use the bathroom. We looked for a gas station. The two of them wanted one with a food mart so they could get some snacks as well.

I pulled into the small gas station and watched my family walk away from the car toward the bathrooms on the other side of the parking lot. I stood at the rear of the car and waited. Just as they walked out of sight a woman who was sitting on the curb in front of the store, near where I parked our car, yelled something at me.

It sounded like, “Hey, what’s wrong with your girl?!”

Since I wasn’t exactly sure what she said, I responded with, “What?”

I was in luck as the woman spoke again repeating her statement and then offered more. She said,

“What’s wrong with your GIRL, she said ‘F@#k that white woman!’ and then your BOY looked right at me”.

I was shocked and stunned… however only for a moment. My mind now began to race in the seconds I had to analyze the situation, I wondered a number of things; is this woman sitting here in front of this store just here to start S^&t or was this the first part of a scam with the store owners? Were some guys parked in one of the trucks around the corner or across the parking lot about to drive up and threaten me or worse?

I thought, does this woman distract me while someone runs up and slams my wife and kid? Could it be she is so completely racist that the moment she sees a black person she can’t help but start the assault first with words and then try and draw you into some escalated conflict?

I quickly scanned the parking lot and did a 360 assessment of our surroundings to be sure we were not in any serious danger. That is when the rusted white and muddy Ford pick-up rolled up between me and my wife and son blocking the front door to the store. Next, I watched the driver enter the store only to be followed seconds later by my wife and son.

I didn’t want my wife to fear that anything was wrong and I didn’t want to escalate things so I smiled at my family as the two of them entered the store.  I then responded to the woman,

“You must be talking about someone else,” I said

Then after a brief pause, I added, “Sounds like you are making stuff up.”

This time the woman didn’t respond. However, in the minutes that passed, I noticed she did seem to know everyone who came and went at the gas station and they seemed to know her.  

I started counting to 30. This was all the time I was going to allow my family to be alone in the store. I was ready to go in after them if I saw one more ‘Local’ go in the store. 

Full disclosure, I had warned my wife just before she had left the car, “Let me know if anyone gives you any trouble.” I said this because I grew up in an area like the one we were in and had that sense of the ‘attitude’ of the environment.  

So I held my breath and tightened my stomach (and my ass) as I prepared for some kind of hit-n-run confrontation. I was ready to launch an assault against whoever was trying to accost my family. In case we had to make a mad dash for the car and the open road.

Lucky for all of us after the two most valuable people in my world came from the store, walked past the woman sitting on the curb out front,  and returned to the car, I asked my wife if the woman sitting on the curb had said anything to them. She said, “No… why?”

I lied saying, “No reason” not wanting to expose my son to this drama and not wanting my wife to freak out.   

It was in that moment that it struck me. I was the one being shown racism and prejudice here. In a microsecond of time, I was getting the smallest sliver of what it is like to be a person of color in most parts of America today. I felt like the whole world (or at least town) was out to get me. Like I was isolated and vulnerable. It was terrifying. Like I was going to have to fight for my life and those I loved at a moment’s notice for no other reason than because of who I was or who I was with.

Now I am not going to pretend that I experienced racism like a black person does. But for one small instant, my understanding expanded well beyond what it had been just moments before this racist white piece of S%^t tried unsuccessfully to traumatize my family.

It is because of that helpless terrifying feeling that I can now share this. There was one other series of thoughts that went through my mind. Okay, maybe 2. The first was a response I might have said if I wanted to be ‘that guy’ with an attitude.

When the white racist lady asked ‘what’s wrong with your girl?’ I wanted to respond with “You know what? Absolutely nothing, that’s what I love about her.” Just to piss her off and throw her off guard.  

I also had this response rolling around in the part of my brain or manhood that wanted to say…while shoving my face 2 inches in front of her face so she could feel the heat of my anger and murderous hate,

“You F%^king sack of S&*t! You say one more thing about my family and I will chain you to this cement pillar and burn you and this f#$king store to the ground. Say something else. See what happens Mother F@#ker! I guarantee they will be THE LAST WORDS YOU EVER SPEAK!!!”

Or something along those lines.

But because I know that every man has his limits and as big as I am I can’t fight everyone in town at once. So with that in mind, my family and I then calmly got into the car and got the hell out of Hicksville.

#BlackLivesMatter2Me #EndRacismNOW!   

If the grownups didn't see the black girl get bullied, did it really happen?

So, there's something you should know about black people. Especially young black teenage girls who happen to be Olympians.  They're liars.. That's right.  If they say that they were bullied and teased and called a slave, they're just making it up.  Apparently for fun.. At least that's the case if you believe the defensive comments made by those who ran the gym where Gabrielle Douglas (she prefers it over being called Gabby) got her start before heading out to Iowa to train there instead at the age of 14.

Gabrielle appeared on Oprah's Next Chapter recently, and shared what it was like to train in an environment of verbal attacks and isolation she felt was due to her race.  I read this story and was incensed.
The response of the former coaches was one of denial, saying things like "Gabby was never a victim", and "I never once heard her complain about girls being mean.."   Are they serious?

Anyone out there ever been bullied as a kid? So tell me, how many of you just marched right on up to a teacher or coach to tell them your sad tale of being picked on by fellow students, complete with names?  If you did,  how did that go?    Did those bad kids see the error of their ways and just embrace you with all kinds of love and apology?  No?  I didn't think so.

Val, you seem a bit hot over this.  Yes, yes I am.   One of those coaches expressed that Gabrielle's story is sickening.  Really? You know what I think is sickening?  These so-called adults attacking a sixteen year old girl and daring to say her experience of bigotry and pain is not true. I thought she handled the interview with class and dignity. She didn't name names, she didn't say anything publicly about the coaches themselves.
Just who do they think they are?

In a previous post, I shared a bit about my experience of being one of very few blacks in a nearly all white Midwestern middle school.  I never said anything about what I was experiencing either. My parents new nothing of what I was going through until I was an adult, and even then, I didn't go into all the details.  That was a painful time and I lived for Fridays.

Now, most often kids aren't going to bully each other within the eye and earshot of an adult, so I can't understand why these coaches are reacting the way that they are. Young girls can be pretty mean and sneaky.   But, if they did witness what was going on and did nothing to stop it, well maybe this is their guilt talking. That and not wanting their gym to look bad. Too late. Their reaction has taken care of that.

I applaud Gabrielle for being upfront about her experience and how she's risen above it. She seems mature beyond her years. A maturity that appears to be lacking back at the old gym..

What do you think? Am I getting too emotional about this?  Do you think that a young person of color would go out of their way to make up stories of racial slurs and bigotry for the fun of it?

The Back of the Bus and the back porch

It's not often that I dwell on the racial prejudice I experienced in my younger years.  But this morning when I logged on and noticed today's Google doodle, a tribute to Rosa Parks, who in an act of civil disobedience, refused to obey an order by a bus driver to give up her seat to a white passenger, thus sparking the Montgomery Bus Boycott, I was immediately taken back.

Now I'm too young to have endured the kind of legislated bigotry and segregation that those of my parents' generation did, but for the short time our family lived in a small town outside of Chicago, I did endure regular negative attention and prejudice from other kids. Yes as the cliche' goes, kids are cruel. As if middle school isn't already the worst time of a kids' life, add to that being the only black student one year and only one of 3 another.    

I never let on to my parents what I was going through during those years.  I've always been a bit of an introvert by nature. But I doubt if I was much different from most kids my age at the time.  Maybe you felt comfortable telling your parents anything and everything you felt and experienced when you were growing up. Not me.  I just buried it. All of it. Way. Down. Deep.

So what was it like being one of the very few black kids in our area? Well, I think I may have been a bit angry at God for a while. I started to wonder why I wasn't born a blue-eyed blond white girl with straight hair.  I just knew that things would have been so much easier than what I was going through being black.  And I was quite the curiosity for many of my classmates and the neighbor kids.
Ignorant questions would abound. My hair. My skin. "Do you tan?" "You can tan?" "You can burn?"

Hardly more than a day or two would go by when I wasn't being called a nigger. Funny, now we're so much more p.c. We don't actually say or spell it out in polite company. But back then, it was different, at least for me. I wish more than anything that I had fought back.

I did fight back once.  Some kid called me a nigger one too many times and on the w r o n g day.  A few seconds later, I was picking the flesh of the back of his neck from my fingernails.
He never called me that again.
Am I condoning violence?  No. I was a sad, picked on kid with pent up anger and frustration over the racism I experienced on a regular basis.  I do feel some regret now over what I did to that boy. I'm sure there was a better way to respond.

We moved back to California when I was in my teens, and honestly I couldn't have been happier.
But was my entire time in the Midwest totally miserable and a complete waste?  I would have to say no.

In that small town was where I believe I met God for real.   Our next door neighbors were baptists and like good baptists, they wanted to make sure I heard the "Good News".

During the summer of 1976, they hosted a vacation bible school for their church on their big back porch. So several of us kids in the area attended.

I loved it. The bible stories, the teacher, even the other kids. And I loved learning about Jesus.
So, even though my time in that part of the country was difficult from a racial standpoint, I believe that in terms of my spiritual awakening, it appears I was in the right place at the right time.

So yes, reading about Rosa today is bittersweet for me. But I am so thankful for the strength God gave her to stand up(or sit as the case may be) for what was right.  And I want to also express my thanks to that neighbor of ours from so long ago, whose name I can't even remember now, for extending the kindness they did by inviting this wounded, bullied girl into their home to meet the Savior.