|
RACISM HURTS
AT ANY AGE Written
by: Mary Helen Ponce
It's
good to be among friends - and their kids - to enjoy a leisurely lunch.
Really, it's something I should do more often.
As usual, the hostess has outdone herself. None of the usual stuff for
her. Forget the 1950s radish roses and cucumber
sandwiches. Forget the 1980s spinach and tofu quiche garnished with
wheat germ! Bring on the light fare and forget
calories. Fully relaxed, as only old friends can be - and satiated with
food and wine - we sit to chat. Just then there's a
commotion near the door.
The hostess' six
year old daughter and her guests have been banished to the back yard. She
now wants to come indoors.
She bangs on the door with a vengeance; her mother ignores her, as in the
living room small talk goes on. The banging on
the door vibrates throughout the room. Just then I hear the hostess
hiss: "You come in, but don't let her in." Who should
not be let in the house? I wonder?
The hostess'
daughter (I'll call her Mickey) has become close friends with an Asian girl
named Tran, who lives up the street.
Mickey and Tran attend the same school and play together most days. They
share Barbie’s, ride bikes, and roller skate.
Often, Mickey eats lunch at Tran's house. The two have been playing
outside and from what I see, Mickey and Tran want to
come inside, but Mickey's mother wants Tran to wait outside. That is
the problem!! I sip the scalding coffee, nibble at white
cake, and think back to what Jenny, a friend recently confided.
When Jen’s daughter Lisa was young the family lived in an all-white
neighborhood. All the kids got along fine, as (on the surface,
anyway) did the parents. But, now and then, while playing tag or other
childish games, Lisa was told to wait outside while her
(white) friends went indoors for cookies, or to pee. Often, the door was
closed in her face! The pounding on the door is hard to
ignore. I'm puzzled. If Mickey stays over her friend’s house after
school, why can't Tran come inside? "They have lice,"
someone whispers. "I hear its TB."
I'm good at
recognizing racism. I grew up with it, and although during the 1950s folks
knew their place - and stayed in it - it
hurt to be kept out of a white friend's house for fear ‘dirty Mexicans’
might contaminate the toilet or pass on the nits it was
said we had. Yet in our own neighborhood we were welcomed in our
friend's modest casitas; often we stayed for dinner.
The banging on the
door comes to a screeching halt; the two girls are now in the back yard.
Inside the house there is an
awkward silence. Neither Mickey’s mom nor the others seems the least bit
concerned at what was taken place. Could it be
we’re all racists at heart?
But come next week, when Mickey's mom needs a sitter, chances are she
won't hesitate to park Mickey with that "nice" Asian
family up the street.
|
