To My Kids: Race & Me

Your dad is an older white man (as I’m sure you are well aware!) I am very far from the experience of what is going on. And so, as this sad scene has played out, I’ve stayed on the sidelines. I don’t have any solutions, so I said nothing. Madonna blew it with her Tweet; I’m sure I might too. And then this morning, I thought of you. My children. And it became clear; I was making a statement. I was saying something by saying nothing. And so, here’s what your dad thinks, for what it’s worth.

The dirty word

I want to let you in on a dirty little secret word we older white folks say. It’s very powerful. It solves everything. For people my age, and my race, the conversations about race can easily go like this:

“This is awful! Yes, I feel bad.” (And then…here comes the secret word.)

“But…”

It’s the But that always lets us off the hook.

“But, he was committing a crime, you know.”
“But, there’s no excuse for rioting. Did you see…?”
“But, they really don’t want to listen to us.”
“But, it’s just not that simple, is it?”

There’s always a reason. A way to explain away the awfulness. At least, that’s what we want to think. We really want to find an extreme example, or a way to blame someone.

Well kids, I reject that thinking. The Buts are actually a sin, because they allow us to keep placing blame. It allows us to never have to try and feel what “they” feel. It keeps people different from us as strangers. Often, enemies. It’s wrong.

What I do know

**My wedding: Aaron & me at our coolest.**

This week, I’ve been thinking a lot about high school, because it reminds me how I should be thinking now. You’ve all heard me talk about Aaron. Aaron and I met our first day in Christian school, back in 1978. We quickly became very tight. Aaron was one of, I believe, just TWO African Americans in our entire school. And just because I was his friend, I got to experience life differently. Here are four stories about race in America for you, kids, when your dad was a very young man.

1. The McDonald’s Incident

Aaron & I bought some burgers to go, and after leaving, we were instantly pulled over by police. The cops demanded, “Which of you called us a pig?” What…? There clearly was some mistake! I naively tried to puzzle out the simple misunderstanding. Aaron said nothing. It took me a very long time to realize that we were pulled over because one of us was black in a very white town.

2. The Field Trip

As Aaron and I moved to the rear of the school bus, the teacher yelled out, “Hey Aaron, you don’t have to sit back there anymore!” I remember the look on Aaron’s face.

3. The “Fight”

Once we were driving in that same very white city, and we passed a guy who gave us the finger. I stupidly turned around.

First rule of Fight Club kids: if you have to get in a fight, just do it. Don’t sit inside the car and trash talk. Then the guy’s friends pulled up. It didn’t end well.

Aaron & I have always regretted not getting out of the car. But, maybe Aaron didn’t get out because he knew that same MacDonald’s police car could pull up at any time. And then what would have happened?

Aaron, you were right to not get out of the car. We weren’t wimps. You were so smart that day.

4. The Barbershop Experience

One more story. I went with Aaron to inner-city Akron for him to get a haircut. We drove to a street that we white kids joked about. I walked into the barbershop and I was the only white person. What a feeling to walk in a room and be the only person of your race! Who I was as a human being meant nothing. My race defined me. I was dependent on my relationship with Aaron. I’ve never forgotten that feeling of being alone, and dependent, and defined.

Kids, empathy is the start. Put yourself in someone else’s place and try to feel, as best you can.

“We” can’t keep saying “But”

For older white people, there’s always a ‘good reason’ to shake your head and look the other way. “But…”

Instead, I’ll say this: Zack, Jake, Brynn, Nik, Meg. There is no good reason for what happened to George Floyd. It was murder. I am very angry and frustrated that I can’t change things. I don’t agree with everything that is happening. However, I’m letting go of Buts and instead, remembering how it felt…feels…to be Aaron’s friend. I have seen how differently a black person is treated; looked at, spoken to in a white world. What a privilege.

Empathy is the only way forward. That’s about all I know. I can’t wait to see what you guys will do to make things better.
Love,

Dad