When I was growing up, my parents taught us all people were the same. It didn't matter what religion they practiced or what color their skin was. We were told if you cut someone, they bleed. That was my father's way of telling us not to worry about things like that. He firmly believed people were people.
My father was also famous, in our family, for saying, an idiot comes in all shapes and colors. Okay, I amended that. He didn't say idiot but the word he did use wouldn't be appropriate.
I was raised to be a tolerant, open human before it was a trend. This was fairly easy, I'll admit since everyone on our neighborhood more or less looked the same. Sure, some people celebrated Hanukkah, some celebrated Christmas and some celebrated both. But for the most part, we were all same.
When I was about fourteen years old, two African-American families moved into our neighborhood, roughly at the same time. The one set of kids were way too goody-goody for us. All they wanted to do was practice their violins and play chess. My best friend and I found them to be an utter bore.
The other family had a son around our age. We met him and thoroughly enjoyed his crazy sense of humor and the stories he told. He was a unique, funny guy and we loved hanging out with him. And then, suddenly, my dad was saying, "I don't want you hanging around with that kid."
I remember being furious. In our family, one did not question my father. What he wanted went. Period. You did not ever call him on anything. But this time, I was livid. I could not contain myself. I, without thinking, called him out on the subject.
I was standing at the top of the stairs and he was at the bottom. I remember thinking, "Good, I can run to my room and lock the door when he comes up after me."
"Dad, this is totally unfair. You don't even know Jeff."
"I know I don't want you hanging around with him."
"But why? He's a nice guy."
"That well may be. But you aren't going to hang around with him."
"Tell me why!"
I could see my father's blood pressure rising, as the red in his face flared.
"Go on! Say it! Why can't I hang around with Jeff?" I shouted. I remember feeling a little sick. I had never, ever questioned him until that moment.
"It doesn't look right."
"That's just stupid!"
I could tell he was getting as angry as I already was.
"You may not hang around with him because he's Black and it wouldn't look right. Are you happy? I said it."
My blood was pounding so hard I couldn't hear myself but I knew what I was going to say was going to get me in deep.
"Then, you are a liar!"
My father just gaped at me as if I had slapped him. Which, I guess, I had.
"You always told us that everyone was equal. You didn't mean it. You meant nothing. It was just talk."
He walked away. I stayed where I was. I could hear him and my mother talking in the living room. A few minutes later, he came back to the bottom of the stairs.
"Come," he said in a soft voice. "Come, sit and talk with me."
"No." I said afraid if I went down the stairs I'd get smashed. My father never, ever hit me. The older siblings got their fair share of spankings but I never did. I figured there was always a first time. "You're going to hit me."
"No. I'm not."
I wanted to make him promise but I figured I'd already pushed the envelope hard enough.
I walked passed him quickly and went to the family room. My mother was in the kitchen getting dinner ready. My dad followed and sat in his usual space on the couch. I took a seat on the floor in front of him.
"You don't understand," he said. "People will say things."
"And since when have you ever cared about that?"
He looked over my head at the wall above me.
"I believed you, you know? Every word you said about how everyone is the same. Cut them and they bleed. That was all a lie?"
He sighed.
"It was? My whole life you preach that and it turns out you don't believe it?"
We'd come to a standstill in the conversation.
"What if we meet him?" my mother called from the kitchen. "We could decide if he was a good or bad influence after meeting him."
I raised my eyebrows at my father as if to say, "Well?"
"It only seems fair," my mother called out.
"All right."
A few days later, Jeff came over and shook my dad's hand and made small talk with him. After he left, Jeff was deemed okay to hang around with. He was "respectable" in my father's eyes.
We never talked about the incident but this was a first for me. It was totally a defining moment. And one I'll never forget. I had stood up for my beliefs and it had worked out to my benefit. I can't say that every time I've stood up for myself has worked out as well as this incident did. It did teach me I had to, no matter what, stand up for myself and my beliefs.