It was Bladenboro, North Carolina. Sometime in 1980 or 1981. It was the first months of the new school year, and we were all getting into the groove of the passing of another summer spent picking blueberries and working on tobacco farms. It was yet another time for learning and gossiping and athletics and attitudes. We were teenagers. We all had new clothes. We all started catching-up with some friends we had barely seen all summer. We all were pretty much on the same agenda we'd had the year before.
In high school we all remember the different cliques that was, basically, the foundation of our social lives. Man, back then we did not seem like archetypes - just kids. As I remember Bladenboro High School, one had the opportunity to kind of have a little piece of most cliques. Well, it seemed like it to me. I didn't belong to any specific clique. I was a basketball manager, so I hung out with the jocks. I was in Art II, so I got to create with the artists. I was ...uh, smart in some areas but think it was my creative nature that I became known a little more than the year before. Yeah, I was one of the weird kids. But no matter how much everyone probably called me queer behind my back I noticed that no one walked up to me to utter, shout or spit anything derogatory to me. I was just a kid like everyone else.
Actually, to be honest, I did belong to a blended-clique: the blacks. And that - in a small southern town - gave me friends and party invitations and a decent reputation. And I cherished that. There was one thing that I can honestly say about going to school in the South: the black kids all stuck together. Period. It was contradictory from my living in the ghettos of D.C. where if you were not liked, you pretty much knew it. From kid to neighborhood.
Once we were all settled in and lockers were assigned and books were given out and orientations had ended, I was told something that was...hmmmm, surprising but not.
The elections for extracurricular clubs had been announced and were carried through during some week. After school one afternoon, a couple of my friends told me that all of the black kids in school were going to join the Monogram Club. When I asked why I was told that because all of the white kids had nominated and voted each other into the offices of the other clubs. Not one black candidate held outstanding votes. So, we all decided to meet the next afternoon to join the Monogram Club (a club exclusively for anyone who participates in school sports...managers and cheerleaders included).
When I showed up at Miss Thompson's homeroom, there were blacks kids spilling out the door. Through the voting in of Seargent-At-Arms and Secretary (both black kids), the crowd began to thin out a bit. I had found a seat inside of the classroom for the outcome of the future elections. However, I was looking at someone whom I thought was beautiful and did not hear the nominees for Treasurer. And when I nominated the beautiful person, all the blacks kids turned towards me with sour looks on their faces and shouting for me to shut up. I realized that I had nominated a second black kid.
After the first black kid won her office, Miss Thompson stopped the elections. "I see what this is about. This isn't about extracurricular activities - this is about racial prejudice."
I thought for a second...
When I moved from D.C. to N.C. - from city kid to country boy - I got a front row seat of the racism we had studied in school back in D.C. I remember my mother raising me and my siblings to look beyond skin color and see the person. And I realized that Miss Thompson was right. It was more about racism than belonging to a cool club. We had no idea if the people we voted for could actually do the job. All we knew was that we were taking a stand. Maybe because we believed in the people we had nominated before that day and they were not elected. The elections for the other clubs could have been based on the majority or it could have been personal.
Miss Thompson tried to give us a lesson of tolerance and acceptance and teamwork before she let the elections continue.
When the nominations for vice-president were taken, another black kid won - and I admit that I voted for her. A black guy I knew from one of my classes jumped up and stormed out of the classroom. "Man, they got to let them have one," he said.
The nominations for president came up. The nominations were made. There was only one black kid nominated.
And she won.
I went through that day not thinking about how well I would remember it through the upcoming years. It has stuck with me the rest of my life. It had become a defining moment to illustrate personal selection versus politics. It was a moment I look at when I want to do the right thing.
I sometimes wondered about Miss Thompson's point of view, actually summing her up to being witness of ignorance played out in the most common fashion.
To me - as I remember - it was just high school.
In high school we all remember the different cliques that was, basically, the foundation of our social lives. Man, back then we did not seem like archetypes - just kids. As I remember Bladenboro High School, one had the opportunity to kind of have a little piece of most cliques. Well, it seemed like it to me. I didn't belong to any specific clique. I was a basketball manager, so I hung out with the jocks. I was in Art II, so I got to create with the artists. I was ...uh, smart in some areas but think it was my creative nature that I became known a little more than the year before. Yeah, I was one of the weird kids. But no matter how much everyone probably called me queer behind my back I noticed that no one walked up to me to utter, shout or spit anything derogatory to me. I was just a kid like everyone else.
Actually, to be honest, I did belong to a blended-clique: the blacks. And that - in a small southern town - gave me friends and party invitations and a decent reputation. And I cherished that. There was one thing that I can honestly say about going to school in the South: the black kids all stuck together. Period. It was contradictory from my living in the ghettos of D.C. where if you were not liked, you pretty much knew it. From kid to neighborhood.
Once we were all settled in and lockers were assigned and books were given out and orientations had ended, I was told something that was...hmmmm, surprising but not.
The elections for extracurricular clubs had been announced and were carried through during some week. After school one afternoon, a couple of my friends told me that all of the black kids in school were going to join the Monogram Club. When I asked why I was told that because all of the white kids had nominated and voted each other into the offices of the other clubs. Not one black candidate held outstanding votes. So, we all decided to meet the next afternoon to join the Monogram Club (a club exclusively for anyone who participates in school sports...managers and cheerleaders included).
When I showed up at Miss Thompson's homeroom, there were blacks kids spilling out the door. Through the voting in of Seargent-At-Arms and Secretary (both black kids), the crowd began to thin out a bit. I had found a seat inside of the classroom for the outcome of the future elections. However, I was looking at someone whom I thought was beautiful and did not hear the nominees for Treasurer. And when I nominated the beautiful person, all the blacks kids turned towards me with sour looks on their faces and shouting for me to shut up. I realized that I had nominated a second black kid.
After the first black kid won her office, Miss Thompson stopped the elections. "I see what this is about. This isn't about extracurricular activities - this is about racial prejudice."
I thought for a second...
When I moved from D.C. to N.C. - from city kid to country boy - I got a front row seat of the racism we had studied in school back in D.C. I remember my mother raising me and my siblings to look beyond skin color and see the person. And I realized that Miss Thompson was right. It was more about racism than belonging to a cool club. We had no idea if the people we voted for could actually do the job. All we knew was that we were taking a stand. Maybe because we believed in the people we had nominated before that day and they were not elected. The elections for the other clubs could have been based on the majority or it could have been personal.
Miss Thompson tried to give us a lesson of tolerance and acceptance and teamwork before she let the elections continue.
When the nominations for vice-president were taken, another black kid won - and I admit that I voted for her. A black guy I knew from one of my classes jumped up and stormed out of the classroom. "Man, they got to let them have one," he said.
The nominations for president came up. The nominations were made. There was only one black kid nominated.
And she won.
I went through that day not thinking about how well I would remember it through the upcoming years. It has stuck with me the rest of my life. It had become a defining moment to illustrate personal selection versus politics. It was a moment I look at when I want to do the right thing.
I sometimes wondered about Miss Thompson's point of view, actually summing her up to being witness of ignorance played out in the most common fashion.
To me - as I remember - it was just high school.
No comments:
Post a Comment