Dreaming In Color

"I have a dream that . . . little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers." -- Martin Luther King Jr.

We're still working on that one, Dr. King. When my little white girl walks down her school halls with a little black boy, it still angers the little black girls, the little white boys, and their mothers and fathers, their uncles and aunties, even their cousins who played with kids of all races growing up. And, did I say 'little?' These kids are in high school. My daughter is a junior.

Though my ethnic origin encompasses American Indian, English, Swedish, and German, I should receive an honorable mention as Hispanic by marriage (that, and I have a fondness for the beauty of the Spanish language); my married name is Valdez. French, Spanish, and Mexican make up my husband's heritage. The people and places of my wandering childhood encompassed a multitude of colors on the human rainbow. Aside from my uncle, who was a constant father-figure in my life over the passage of time, the only stepfather I ever had was a black man. I dated young men regardless of ethnicity - Asian, Black, Hispanic, yes, even Caucasian. Nationality certainly did not determine how well they treated me or how charming their company would be.

I grew up aware of racism throughout history not just via my public education but through the efforts of my mother - who firmly believed in the lessons of the past, and my own thirst for knowledge through reading and questioning. Incarcerating Japanese-American families in camps to avoid a possible uprising simply because Japanese loyal to Japan bombed Pearl Harbor? Ridiculous. I practically broke my brain trying to account for the reasoning behind the mass murder of millions of Jewish people during the Holocaust. Importing human beings to our free country for the purposes of building financial empires on their stripped and 'striped' backs never made sense any way it was viewed. It all boils down to humans demoralizing and exterminating fellow humans.

I grew up aware of racism for other reasons less instructional. My stepfather's shade of black was deep ebony. My mother's shade of white was peaches-and-cream. When they went anywhere together, their contrast stood out, attracted the eye. There were eyes drawn to them in stern disapproval of their union. There were mouths more than willing to voice their disapproval. Even within the sphere of my larger extended family, telling my grandpa - who I loved, admired and respected - was out of the question. Though I struggled to understand the perspectives of such people, understanding never came. I could grasp cultural and religious differences. Those could definitely muddy the waters. How, though did the hue of the protective covering which houses identical musculature, endoskeletons, digestive and respiratory and circulatory systems, inspire such hatred and venom?

I still don't know, Dr. King.

But I do know this. The other night, my daughter rode with a friend in his car to McDonald's.. This friend happens to be a very handsome shade of black. They were spotted by one of her girlfriend's. This girl's mother accompanied her - a mother who forbids her daughter to date African-Americans and severs any friendships she has with friends who do date this male segment of our population. Now, my little white girl is on the mom's list of undesirables. She was red in her indignant anger. Whether dating or simply befriending, the interracial combination of boy and girl sets everyone off. It might be a cousin asking how my daughter could go out with 'one of them,' spitting out the highly offensive N-word as casually and coolly as one might mention 'sock' or 'ice cube'. It might be the disgruntled black girls talking raw about 'white girls stealing their good men'. How about the awkward silence of disapproving extended family members at the Thanksgiving table when a young man visited to break bread with us. Perhaps even the 'concerned' people, parents on both sides of the color-equation included, who opine 'date them and get it out of your system but don't marry them.' The poor examples continue to stack up.

This subject matter is not foreign. My recounting is hardly in-depth or revelatory of anything remotely original. I'm not expressing an inordinate amount of compassion for my daughter's dealings. Difficulty often accompanies life when one operates with the strength of her convictions. Whatever her hardships or difficulties, the unfairness faced by many in her peer group with more obvious evidence of their ethnicity far outrank hers. She chooses to be color-blind. She chooses to befriend who she wants. She chooses to practice right over wrong. We, as her parents, encourage her to think for herself. Our parameters for socializing and dating center around character, actions, and maturity-level. THAT is how WE choose.

What she didn't choose was the pigmentation of her skin at birth. Neither did her friends. But they all must exist in a world where society has decided it is absolutely imperative to attribute a value to that very thing. As long as attitudes persist, those overt and covert, those defying logic and those with seemingly logical explanations - "People make it too hard for blacks and whites to marry and have kids and be emotionally happy." - the vision of blacks and whites and everyone in between, of all ages, joining hands and walking in peace will continue to be just that: the decent dream of a more than decent man.

My daughter and her friends - once those little black, and white, boys and girls of which you spoke decades ago - still have a dream, Dr. King. They'll keep working on it.