Race Together: The Starbucks Challenge

Last week, Starbucks decided it was a good idea to encourage customers and baristas to engage in conversations about race. I am not convinced that is a venue I would be comfortable talking about a topic that has been so charged with passion and drama for centuries, and especially within the past few years here in America.

That being said, why not blog about it?? Each one of us has our own unique, personal account of how we grew up with other races, what our perceptions, beliefs and experiences are, etc. Here's mine.

When I was 3 or 4, growing up in Pasadena, CA, I asked my mom one day "why is Fred always dirty?" I was referring to our cleaning person, who was a middle-aged African-American man. I don't even remember what my mom said. I do know that he was a really kind, soft-spoken man who our family liked, trusted and employed for several years. I will simply blame that question on my youth . . . .

When I was in 6th grade, I was bused to a school on the north part of the city. This would have been during the early 70s, when integration was a pretty huge issue in Pasadena, as well as other parts of the nation. Many parents were pulling their children out of public schools right and left, in a movement called "white flight", and enrolling them in private schools. My parents did nothing of the sort, and I was glad they didn't. I enjoyed my 6th grade year at Washington. My teacher, a young Jewish man named Mr. Fine, read "The Hobbit" to us at the end of every day. I do remember being afraid one day that Cynthia, a large black girl, was going to kick my ass the next day. Somehow, I was able to negotiate a peace agreement, and that fight never materialized. 

Middle school (McKinley) and high school (Blair) were fairly "uneventful". Most of my classmates were white, and the ones that weren't were, to me, just another classmate. I was to be the number one tennis player my junior year, but Lloyd Bourne transferred from a private school and bumped me to #2. This was around 1975, during the time Arthur Ashe was a professional player. Lloyd was nationally ranked, and one of the few ranked players of color during that time. We became fast friends, and when he was bored or couldn't find anyone good to practice with, he would hit with me. He came over to my house a few times, and I visited his apartment, as well. He went on to Stanford, played on the pro tour a few years, then started having back problems. 

I do remember, while I was in high school, writing a letter to the editor of the Los Angeles Times in favor of forced school busing, for the purpose of racial integration. Highly controversial topic, and 40 years later, not exactly sure where I stand, or if this is even still an issue in certain parts of America (forced busing to achieve integration). I was thankful that I was able to experience people of another race in a school setting, as my neighborhood was pretty "non-mixed".

In college, at the University of Redlands, the one African-American student who stands out the most in my memory is the brother of Natalie Cole, the son of Nat King Cole, Kelly Cole. He later died of complications with HIV-AIDS. 

Fast forward to today. I have spent the past two decades working for the San Bernardino City Unified School District. Our district is roughly 65% Latino, 10% caucasian, 15% African-American, and 10% "other". These statistics are fast becoming obsolete due, if for no other reason, to the steady rise of "mixed" race individuals. I remember teaching spades to African-American students during my 6th period conference while listening to Tupac Shakur. "What up my nigga?" would actually be a greeting I would receive every once in awhile. To me, it was a sign that I was respected, that I was "welcomed" into their world. And no, I would not return the same greeting . . .although I do remember saying something like "Oh, so now I'm your nigga?!?"

I tell people "I am mixed". When they ask with what, I tell them: 1/2 Italian, 1/2 Spanish. "That's not mixed!" they argue. Really? So the only way one can be mixed is if you're half black/half Spanish? Who came up with that rule?!? The stories I could tell over two decades of being a high school teacher, counselor and coach in a city so racially diverse would take us into the next decade. Perhaps during retirement, that book I have been threatening to write may actually become a reality . . . .