A Whiter Shade of Pale (Part 1)

No one can ever really walk a mile in another man’s shoes, and skin color has very little to do with it. Each person walks their own path, one that can never be fully or vicariously experienced by another.

As for me, I grew up in a ethnically diverse neighborhood, raised by a civil rights activist, spent untold hours and sleepovers with my best friends (who happened to be African-American), attended a COGIC church as the only white kid, played Little League on mostly Latino teams, participated in Low Rider parades and break dance contests, preferred Good Times to the Brady Bunch (never saw one episode), listened to Al Green and Aretha, took my darker-skinned dates to school dances, and cut the rug like James Brown…. well, in my dreams, of course.

I’ve read works by Malcolm X, MLK, Eldridge Cleaver, W.E.B. Du Bois, Frederick Douglass, spent a summer doing landscaping with Mexican migrant workers, lived through the L.A. Riots, eaten soul food on Crenshaw, and had a ton of other experiences to pad my “ethnically sensitive” resume (or whatever) to make you think I’m a cool inter-cultural guy…

….but I have never walked a mile in another man’s shoes.

Sure, I’ve dug holes with him, danced with him, played, wrestled, fought, worshipped, worked, laughed and cried with him. But I am not him, and we do not have the same life experience.

Sure, our mothers may have been on food stamps at the same time as we rehearsed our WWF figure-four-leg-locks, when we heard the neighbors fight and longed for a better life like the Cosby family… but we would not be the Cosbys or the Evans or the Jeffersons or the Bradys. We were friends, and we both donned our identical Pro-Wings (anybody remember those?)

But I (as a white guy) never had to deal with the suspicious looks in the supermarket, like some of my friends did. And never had to worry about sending my kids off to school in a Southern state where some kid would say, “Back in the old days, my daddy would have owned your daddy.” (Real conversation that happened a few years back in my neighborhood to a dear friend.)

No, I can’t relate. Those of a whiter shade of pale can never truly relate. But that doesn’t mean we can’t try to be a little more understanding, a little more open to knowing our own history as a nation, scarred by blatant racism, hatred, ignorance and blood. A history that is still being written today as we deal with some difficult and painful struggles. This is our history as an American people.

As Americans, we need to know where we came from and who we are, in order to become the people we know we should be. MLK’s dream was not a Black Dream, but an American Dream. It is for every shade and hue. It is mine.

My fellow white folk, if you want to take just a baby step toward understanding a fraction of what’s happening in Ferguson without the “scary idea” of talking to a friend of color, just go visit your local library and begin reading:
– “The Souls of Black Folk” (Du Bois)
– “The Autobiography of Malcolm X”
– “Soul on Ice” (Cleaver)
These three very different men helped open my eyes (just a little) to a world I could have never fathomed. I never knew, and I can never fully know, but now I can better appreciate the outpouring of anger and sadness of an event like that in Ferguson.

This may not be a bucket of ice water over the head, but it’s all I have for such a time as this.

And for those friends who welcomed a “poor white boy” into your families and homes, I am forever grateful for all the memories of our time together on the streets and playgrounds and schools of our childhood. You know who you are 😉

Continue to Part 2