When the little ones in your life teach you a lesson

Previously published in 

The Dispatch
GateHouse Media 

When I tried to explain to my freshly 5-year-old buddy that people once were unable to go to school or pools together because of their skin color, Calvin looked at me with that child-like smirk of disbelief. As I held my brown fingers next to his lighter ones, he said in a dense and lippy tone, “That doesn’t make sense.”

Calvin was right, “But unfortunately, it’s true.” Our conversation unfolded on the eve of a visit to his preschool class’ celebration of the birthday of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Calvin’s mom, Kelly, and I have been calling each other "sister" for almost a decade. We’ve shared in family dinners, holidays, heart-breaks, successes, failures and a heap of stories that would make our parents blush. In fact, I was one of the sisters in the waiting room when Calvin was born. His teacher, who reads this column, asked her if I’d speak about the MLK holiday. I am accustomed to writing about cultural and historical figures, but it’s been awhile since I’ve had a speaking engagement. I’m not sure what made me more nervous: the invitation to speak or the task of trying to explain civil rights to 3- to 5-year-olds.

I turned to social media for ideas — only to find a decorating craft on a toilet paper roll. I am not sure who thought up that idea. (Kelly assures me that preschoolers are likely to come home with anything attached to a toilet paper roll.) I didn’t think anything short of a schoolwide stomach bug could produce enough resources for the activity. There had to be a better way to honor the legacy of a slain civil rights hero.

And then there were lofty guides, produced by people with lots of letters behind their names, with titles like “Talking to Our Children about Racism & Diversity.” The guide encouraged people not to shelter children from the harsh realities of bigotry. “Five- to 8-year-olds begin to place value judgments on similarities and differences. They often rank the things in their world from ‘best’ to ‘worst.’ They like to win and hate to lose. They choose best friends. They get left out of games and clubs, and they exclude others — sometimes because of race, ethnicity and religion,” according to this guide.

With all due respect to people above my pay grade, I only had three to five minutes to share and I was almost certain that it would take me longer to define the word “bigotry” than to explain the benefits of welcoming people of all backgrounds.

The night before the presentation, I had nothing (except a heightened respect for people who effectively communicate with preschoolers on a regular basis). It wasn’t until the morning of the event, when I asked Calvin what I should say about King and his birthday, that it clicked. Calvin’s little face lit up because we both genuinely love a good birthday celebration. In fact, he often invites me to impromptu celebrations for his stuffed animals. We decided that cake, cupcakes, singing and candles would be in order for King.

We also decided that art should be on the agenda, so we printed an outline of King’s face for the kids to color. I had so much to say about the women of the civil rights movement, the new Jim Crow and modern examples of segregation, but I decided to step down off of my soapbox long enough to listen. 

Through conversations with the little boy I’ve loved since the moment his mommy introduced us at the hospital, I was reminded that some lessons are better lived out. I’ve seen more people come together through hospital beds, battlefields, dinner tables and classrooms than soapboxes. The words of Dr. King still echo through history: “I have a dream that one day … little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.”

Indeed, interpersonal relationships are probably the only way that we will continue to value the lives and opinions of people that appear to be different from us. I will never forget when some of my south Georgia family members, who witnessed brutality against African Americans, began looking at my friendship with Kelly differently. Over the years, living our version of “sisterhood” has challenged their willingness to trust friendships outside of color lines.

Hopefully Calvin has a little more time before having to answer questions about why one of his aunties has a different skin color. For now, I will enjoy experiencing King’s dream through the example of my little friend, who managed to bypass all my complicated explanations about acceptance with a truth summed up in four simple words: “All skin is beautiful.”

The Sisterhood & Calvin

When Hidden Figures Make History

Recently published in The Dispatch 

Scrolling through microfilm from the late 1950s and early 1960s has given me a new appreciation for women who worked behind the scenes, but are often missing from historical media. Hours of digesting newspapers with lengthy “women sections,” dedicated primarily to homemaking tips and how to “appear pleasing” at work, left me eager to find underrepresented stories.

My friends at the Davidson County Historical Museum are always good sports when it comes to my little research projects. While working with the museum to gather information about the Washington Park Pool, Museum Registrar Caitlin Williams sent me a story from July 1951 with a cringe warning.

The lead sentence reads, "Women can be very enthusiastic creatures, and when they get really set on an idea they are apt to do something about it, but when Uncle Sam says 'No,' it will stop them every time. The later part of May the Lexington Charity League decided they were going to do something about the long-needed Negro swimming pool for Lexington." Apparently, 18 members of the league demanded a meeting “in the sweltering sun” with business leaders, county and city officials to determine feasible properties.

Caitlin was right; the depiction of these women made me cringe. The reporter’s word choice said a lot about the way women were considered during this era. He writes, “Then the boom fell. Supt. of Schools L.E. Andrews, who had been adding with the project, received a notice in connection with his school building business stating that no pool whatsoever can be constructed now under a new NPA ruling.” The most cringe-worthy aspect of the story was the smug closing. “The ladies are much disappointed that their feverish activities ended in such an abrupt manner, but perhaps someday their project can be launched again.”

Relaunch it did, but details are slim. Not a single woman’s name was mentioned in the 1951 news story, and the newspaper coverage of how Washington Park went from being ruled out to actually happening is spotty at best - except for the 1955 property transaction. The deed states that owners Joe H. White and wife Virginia along with R. Bruce Smith and wife Eleanor agreed to sell the land for the sum of one dollar to the city for “construction of a swimming pool and recreation park” located on the Old Florida School Property surrounded by “residences for colored citizens.”

The property was outside of the corporate city limits, but an agreement was reached for the city to construct and maintain the park. On the rare chance that I might be able to contact one of the original owners, I sought out the obituary of Mrs. Virginia McCrary White. White died in 2006 at the age of 94, but her obituary and the newspaper article helped confirm some of my suspicions stating, “She was lifelong resident of Lexington and graduated from Duke University in the Class of 1933. She was a member of the Charity League of Lexington.” We may never know exactly what role she and her friends played in our local history, but I can only imagine.

When reading old news reports, it seems like decades of behind-the-scenes stories were missing. Most recently, the film “Hidden Figures” introduced three brilliant African-American women at NASA — Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan and Mary Jackson — who served as the brains behind the launch of astronaut John Glenn into orbit, a stunning achievement that restored the nation's confidence and galvanized the world. The film was my first exposure to these women’s stories.

I had a moment of reckoning when a friend sent me The Washington Post story about journalist Clare Hollingworth. She died on Jan. 10 at the age of 105. She led a colorful life and had a lengthy career covering wars around the world. She was described in print this way: "Dressed in a tailored safari suit and sometimes packing a pearl-handled revolver, Ms. Hollingworth marched with troops, witnessed firefights, traveled to rebel hideouts and rode along during aerial bombing runs. In Kashmir, motoring across a bridge that had come under shelling by Pakistani troops, she gushed to a colleague, 'Now, this is what makes life worth living!’”

A friend asked how a former Charity League member, African-American woman and journalist missed these important stories. Women were not “allowed” in the forefront of our media, their stories were not valued and never taught. I can only affirm my commitment to seeking and sharing untold perspectives. 

Let these figures be hidden no more.