During my childhood I was aware that I was different in color from the majority of people around me, but my father and mother emphasized brainpower, not color.
When I was six, a girl in my class called me “Black.” I was upset because she made the word sound like something terrible. What was wrong with my color? My mother told me how lucky I was to be Black —I had African heritage.
She also told me one of the most beautiful and powerful women in history was Queen Nefertiti of Egypt. She showed me a picture and said I was just like her— brown, smart and beautiful.
My parents were from the East Coast and never talked very much about racial struggles. For this reason, when confronted with race issues myself, it was a wake up call, and I would ask myself: “Why are they treating me differently?” I decided if race was the reason then they were just ignorant.
In the ‘60s and ‘70s, I became outraged when I read about the things that happened to “colored” and “Negro” people in the “South.” The injustice was terrible, but all the horrible things seemed so far away; I lived in Los Angeles. I supported the Civil Rights movement; at one point I was president of the NAACP youth group at my church. When a Freedom Rider came to speak at our church, it was a whole different story. It was as if someone from another world dropped into our L.A. beach and sun world. The things he described that were being done to “colored” people was horrible—death and brutality—and I realized if I lived there, they would be done to me too.
Malcolm X spoke at our college, and it was a big deal because he was a “Black nationalist.” I sat in the front row and was mesmerized by his energy and fiery rhetoric. He made good sense, but Martin Luther King’s way seemed the better way—he was nonviolent.
I should be able to say I live in a safer and balanced society today and that we are now racially colorblind, and anyone who wants to become a successful participant in the American Dream can do so.
The positive markers are there, but maybe it didn’t change and I wasn’t paying attention. Something evil has developed in this country— mistrust, anger, meanness, divisiveness and killing of citizens are becoming the norm, and those getting killed the most are young Black and brown men.
With all the anger in this country related to race, I had to ask myself: How do I feel about being Black? I realized that I forgot I was Black—meaning I left the fight a long time ago and believed it was all over. How wrong I was.
Being Black in America is something to be proud of. It was our enslaved forefathers who built this country—cotton, tobacco, rice, etc. Our country, the greatest modern country in the world, even with its racially divisive and deplorable history, has made it possible for anyone who wants an education to get one.
Maybe we as Black people need to look closely at ourselves and tap into what some of us have forgotten: The pride, the drive to overcome adversity and make a better life for our kids.
Our children are worth saving and they do matter.
Black parents —it’s your time to remember that you too are Black and proud.
Regina Fraser is a traveling granny who has a national TV travel show on PBS.
