Santa, Easter Bunny, Equal Opportunity
Tags: Prompt, Belief, Short Story, Equal Rights, Reflections

Photo by Macau Photo Agency on Unsplash

I moved into a middle class neighborhood before I turned three. I was raised to believe that if I worked hard, got good grades, and was a good person that I was in total control of my life. I was raised to believe that was true for everyone. I learned that if a person didn’t reach their potential, whatever that was, it was totally their fault.

My family was better off than most of my cousins. I figured that was because my father chose a better career and worked harder. My friends in my neighborhood for the most part had about the same as we did, maybe a fancier car or a newer television but pretty much equal. I went to quality schools, but then again besides my school being the best athletically and competitive academically I thought that pretty much all were equal. My cousins went to a city high school in an older building but I assumed the education was the same.

I went to an integrated high school. Yes, there were three black students in the school. Socio-economically everyone was fairly equal. I lived through the civil rights era of the 1960’s. I knew that there were riots. I knew there were demands. I lived in the Northern United States. I did not see much discrimination. When I got to university I heard stories and had discussions.

It really wasn’t until I started my teaching career in Virginia that I really discovered racism. The high school I was hired in had been integrated for seven years. The law had required them to be integrated almost twenty years before they were. It was then I started to learn that it mattered who you were. I saw students get into university with worse grades than another student. I would see girls and guys treated differently in career destinations not because they said it is what is wanted just because of their sex. I tried to be “blind” when I gave students grades. I would put my calculator over the names of the students. I would calculate their grades. Only after did I look at the name attached to the grade as I wrote it on the report card. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to be biased.

I realized that things like race, sex, religion, how attractive you were, if you were very overweight, and the accent you had might determine whether you got a job or not. I knew of racism, I saw racism. Until the past few years I was much less informed about systemic racism. I had no idea that the probable reason why I saw no people of color in my neighborhood growing up was because they could not obtain a loan to buy a house in my neighborhood.

I bought a house thirty years ago. It wasn’t until this year I knew why I had to demand that the real estate agent show me the house I ended up buying. He had showed me five or six houses in the general area that I bought my house. I was not happy with any of them. I then asked if I could look at the book. He told me I could. I picked out my house and asked to see it. I was told that was a nice house and that he would look at it and others and show me more the following week. I told him I wanted to see it then we were only two minutes away. I ended up buying my house. I only realized that the reason I wasn’t shown the house without insisting is that the neighborhood was “mixed”. Even in 1990, they did not show white people houses in integrated neighborhoods.

I have seen for many years that police had used deadly force on black people more than white people. In the last five years it has become obvious that even today the color of your skin could cause you to be killed by people whose job it is to serve and protect. I know a number of police officers. They are all good people. I know that the vast majority of police officers are good people. But, like millions, the sight of a police officer murdering a man for the crime of being black sickened me. It became worse when people tried to justify it afterwards by explaining he had a criminal history. The police did not know that. The police only knew that he had given a store clerk a counterfeit fifty dollar bill. I had done the same thing accidently a month previous having found what I thought was a real bill on the ground. The police were not called for me. The clerk even was seemingly apologetic that he had noticed and couldn’t accept it for payment.

I once believed that Santa Claus was real and I once believed that the Easter Bunny hid eggs for me to find. It would be easier for me to go back to believing those were true than for me to believe that all people are treated equally by most people and society in general.