My Black History (4)
During my elementary school years, I remember daily our school bus had to slow down in a particular curve in the road - and the kids on the bus would throw things out the window at the black students waiting to catch their bus. Sometimes they were prepared, and threw things back at our bus. Of course, we didn't go to the same school; this was the 1950s in Alabama.
I often wondered, if not then, at least I certainly wondered later
- why would strangers throw things at one another?
I didn't even personally know a black person that was my own age. I had never been mistreated by a black person of any age. I wonder what actions led my white friends to throw things at black strangers waiting for a school bus?
About this time in my life, my mother had a lady helping her with housework a couple of days each week. We weren't rich, but mom and dad both worked, so we could afford it. I've told you about Marie already. The person in our life now was Laura, and she was with us well into my high school years. I didn't have as much interaction with her as I did with Marie, because I was at school while she was at the house. However, one specific event stands out in my mind - in my heart - that shaped my opinion of her.
Mother was Librarian at the High School only three doors away from our house. So, even with after school duties, she still got home before me on most days. Occasionally, Laura would still be there. (I don't remember if she had a ride, or if mom took her home; anyway, she was there.) At a time when mother had concerns about my older brother, Laura had similar concerns about her son who was about the same age. It was obvious they had discussed their situations. On this particular day, as I came home - for some reason I came through the door quieter than usual. As I entered the living room, there was mom and Laura, kneeling at the piano bench (a frequent prayer altar in our house) - and, out loud, they were praying for their sons. This was an old-fashioned prayer meeting type prayer - shouting to the Lord, pleading with Him to guide their boys to righteous living.
My parents always taught me - in such acts as this - that you can't hate a person and pray for them at the same time. Of course, there was not reason to hate Laura, or Marie, or Amanda (who came later) - just because their skin color was darker than ours. But, for some people, that's all the reason they need. I guess they just don't pray enough.
