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Racism
in my lifetime
By Tiffanie Joy McKinnon
I have had the privilege of growing up on the East Coast in the N.Y.
area, which some would call a type of melting pot. Fortunately, I
haven't come in contact with much blatant racism. I grew up around
all sorts of people: black, white, Filipino, Latino, Asian and just
about every other kind of ethnicity.
Honestly, the only time in my life I felt a victim of subtle racism
was during my sophomore year of high school.  My
parents had permitted me to throw a Christmas party for my class,
which consisted of about 46 students.
At that time, I was attending a private Christian school in what was
considered the "boonies" of New Jersey. I was one of the 10 black
students in my high school and one of three black women in my class.
I invited everyone in my class and there were definitely those who
were very excited to come; there was no question that they would show
up.
Nonetheless, there were about 12 to 14 kids who wanted to come but
for some reason or another said they couldn't. I could tell that half
of those 14 wanted to attend, but something or someone was preventing
them from coming. I was actually a little hurt because, being in such
a small class, I knew each person in my class fairly well; in other
words, I knew them well enough to know that they were not the type
to miss a party.
I mentioned it to my dad, and after a day or two he decided to sit
me down and give me his opinion as to why some of my colleagues were
not planning on attending. He humbly and plainly told me that maybe
some of their parents were a little wary about what to expect at a
"black girl's house."
I listened intently as my dad gave me one of those wake-up calls that
all minority parents hate to give. I was shocked, but my age, maturity
and spiritual mindset -- combined with the fatherly advice my dad
gave -- kept me from becoming bitter or resentful.
After that father-daughter moment, I remember thinking to myself,
"If they only knew." If they only knew that I do not and never have
fit the typical stereotype of a black household. If they only knew
that my house was as nice as theirs and that I have never suffered
or lacked anything, despite what much of the majority often times
assumes of the minority. If only this one time their parents would
stop entertaining their assumptions about the "Minority," I could
be the one to help dispel their assumptions when their kids came home
and told them how beautiful my house was, how well-taken care of they
were as my guests and how much good, clean fun they had enjoyed.
I remember thinking, "If only they could put away their ignorance
and their fear of the unknown and see me for who I am," the daughter
of a pastor and principal of a school, living on middle- to upper-class
income with just as much happiness as the next person. That was my
first comprehensible and subtle encounter with racism.
I do not discount the problems we face here. Hopefully it will provoke
us to move onward and upward toward racial harmony so that not only
Dr. King's dream but also The King's dream will be fulfilled, and
in that He will be well-pleased.
Minorities have learned through the years to respond to situations
instead of reacting to them, and I think this has helped our struggle
in so many ways. Nonetheless, it's not yet over. Each generation must
take its children to a higher level in thinking, a higher level of
tolerance and a more fervent level of learning about the cultures
of others. It starts with the child, and if we as future parents do
our jobs correctly, then a little child shall lead them, and lead
them well.
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