Growing Up (NaBloPoMo Day 22)

I mentioned a couple of topics I considered discussing when first starting NaBloPoMo, just to make sure I had something to talk about. One of those topics was racism, as I do think I have a rather unique view of racism, considering I’m your average mid-30s white guy. Typical house in the typical suburb, living the typical demographic – wife, two kids, SUV, cat, dog, etc.. What could someone like me know of racism?

Easy; up until I was in the fourth grade, I was very much a minority. I live on the Navajo Indian Reservation in Arizona. My dad worked for the BIA, hence the reason for living on the reservation. In my grade, I was one of four white kids. All the other kids were Native Americans. And I was constantly picked on. Two incidents stand out vividly in my mind.

The bus ride was always a challenge. I knew every intersection, every scrap-wood fence, almost every rock, as I stared out the window the entire ride to school and home. I didn’t interact with the other kids. On the way to school this particular morning, the other kids were in a torturous mood. I suffered smacks upside the head, flicks of the ear and stuff being thrown at me. I didn’t respond, nor react. When we got to school, I flat out refused to get off the bus. All the other kids had gotten off, but me. Brother Mark, our bus driver (yes, it was a catholic school I attended), came back to talk to me. I remember him being nice. I also remember him bringing another authority figure on the bus, whether another teacher or an administrator, I don’t know. I just remember Brother Mark telling this person that all the other kids picked on me and he simply didn’t know why. Eventually, they persuaded me to get off the bus.

The second incident was considerably more embarrassing, and I’m not sure I’ve actually told this to anyone. See, being white, I was circumcised. The Navajo and Hopi boys (as I imagine all the Native American boys), weren’t. And when they saw I was, it was as if I was suddenly a side-show freak. I would go in to use the bathroom, and if there were three or more boys in there, I would get laughed at. The incident that stands out in my mind was peeing, and having some kid come up behind me and pull my pants and underwear down to my ankles. As a boy, once you start peeing, it’s very difficult to stop, so I stood there, finishing with my pants down around my ankles, the other boys laughing and taking turns kicking my butt. Not much fun.

I wasn’t until later in my life I understood what racism was. Granted, the discrimination against me was mild, and I apologize if I’ve offended anyone who might be reading this that suffered more than I. I don’t remember the adults giving me any sort of the treatment the kids did. And not all the kids were like that. I had a friend name Frederick who invited me to play, who took me to his house and to meet his family.

What really drove it home was when we lived up in Oregon. We moved there when I was in fourth grade. Talk about a culture shock; from high desert to lush, green, nearly rain forest-like climate. To sunshine all the time to rain every other day. To white people, and nothing but white people. My mom said after a week of being there, I asked her “where are all the Indians?” And in the fifth grade, we had a kid move into the neighborhood who was black. It was then that I really learned about racism.

Do I blame those kids for picking on me like that? Not in the slightest. As I said, it might have been a case of being the outcast kid that everyone picks on. I don’t think that’s the whole story though – another kid who was white, by the name of Joel, suffered many of the same indignities. Again, on the whole, they were minor. To a kid in the second and third grades, they were terrifying.

It’s at this time of the year that I think a little deeper than most about Thanksgiving and what it signifies. As an American, it’s more than family time, getting together and sharing good food; it’s also shameful. What our forefathers did to the Native Americans was a travesty. The way we treat with them now is an embarrassment.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone. Think about what it means.

/soapbox.