Racial issues with grandma

Racial issues with grandma

This is a scary topic for me to write about, but I felt I needed to tell the story. This isn’t a story to belittle my grandmother because I feel she was one of the greatest women in the world. Everybody loved her. She had a great sense of humor. She was kind and generous of her time. I had a close bond with my grandmother and spent all my summers with her. I also stayed with her when my mom and dad went to work every evening. Grandma and I went everywhere together and took the bus to various places. I bring up the bus at this point because this is where it all started. My grandmother had a habit of holding her nose and rolling her eyes at me every time we sat next to a black person on the bus. She said they were smelly and sweated too much. Really, I didn’t see the problem or notice any particular odor except maybe one time on a hot sweaty day a black guy sat next to me, probably from a hard days work. Seriously though, all races can sweat, this is nothing new. This isn’t some new concept that just flashed in time with the black generation.

As a little girl I loved to sit in the back of the bus as well. There was a nice long cushiony seat that I couldn’t resist. Plus it was often vacant and I liked that. Being a loner at such a young age I relished the idea of having the back of the bus to myself. One thing I couldn’t understand for the life of me is why grandma was so against sitting at the back of the bus with me. I pleaded with her, pulled her arm and talked to her until I was blue in the face. She finally gave in after much persuasion. She confessed to me that black people only sit at the back of the bus. This seemed really strange to me at the time. I didn’t know why this was the normal procedure and I didn’t see the reasoning in it. I knew nothing about racism when I was a young girl in the 1970’s. I was so naïve and there was so much to learn.

There was one black person that my grandmother actually loved which surprised me. She would often watch Lawrence Welk since this was her favorite show. There was a black tap dancer on the show that was really good! He was charming, had a warm friendly smile and was easy on the eyes. I was relieved when grandma at least liked this fellow. I had hope in my heart.

Years later when I became an adult, I started to do a little psychology into my grandmother’s way of thinking. I remember her telling me of one particular story with her family on one hot summer night in Florida. Two black guys broke in the place and robbed it plus raped all the women. I realized my grandmother was scared to death of black people because of this incident. How many other incidents that she encountered I do not know; if any at all. I wish I remembered all her stories a little more, but it’s all such a haze now.

Also, grandma didn’t grow up with black people her whole life so she really couldn’t relate to them well. I had to think of everything positive so I didn’t get depressed thinking that my grandmother was a racist. I know times have changed considerably since then. But I do know that racism still exists everywhere. I don’t hold anything against my grandmother. I accepted the fact long ago about how she felt, but every once in awhile it pains me to think about it. I know there are bad white people as well as good white people. I know there are bad black people as well as the good and it’s the same for every race. I’m smart enough to know this and not be narrow minded about it. After all, I truly believe that we are all just members of the human race. We all have the same blood, same color of blood, same flesh and organs, just a different color of skin tone. It doesn’t matter if we are white, black, yellow, red or brown. I feel we are all God’s children. We are all brothers and sisters in His eyes. I just wish my grandmother at the time had felt the same.