"That's A Terrible Thing To Say"

"THAT'S A TERRIBLE THING TO SAY."
June 8, 2009, 3:44PM

snip//

That spring, I was deeply worried about an old and dear friend with whom I'd had a romantic relationship, off and on, for years (at the time, it was off), because he was a platoon leader with the 101st Airborne Division in Vietnam. When I found out that he had, indeed, returned safely from his tour, had rotated out of the Army, and was at home before leaving for a new life in West Texas, I traveled to my hometown to visit him.

I can still remember how he looked then, how broad and strong his shoulders were from months spent humping a rucksack through the jungle, how sexy in his cowboy hat. He was 6'4" tall and I was a foot shorter. I was visiting with his mom in the living room when he drove up into the driveway in the new, gold, '72 El Camino he'd bought, and I ran out and threw my arms around his neck. He hoisted me up in one arm and carried me effortlessly into the house.

We visited a while with his mom, and then he had some things to bring in from the truck, so I followed him out, and he handed me a bag to carry.

We were happy and laughing, and I grinned up at him and said, "Who was yo niggah last year?"

That was a cute little saying I'd picked up from some of my new friends. I'm ashamed to admit that I did not think anything of it at the time.

This, from a young woman who had black friends and who had worked and written about civil rights while in college. Who'd been outraged at incidents of racism her whole life.

It would be easy to blame my new friends, but they hadn't made the remark. I had.

Thoughtlessly, stupidly.

My friend, Kent, stopped what he was doing, stood up to his full height, and in a stern voice I'm sure he normally reserved for clueless privates, he said, "That's not very funny. It's a terrible thing to say."

And when he turned away, I stood there, dumbstruck at the truth of his words, my own humiliation, and inner self-rage that I had fallen into such a careless, thoughtless remark so easily, when I thought I knew myself better than that.

Later, I learned that in the month before Kent had departed Vietnam for home, they'd pulled him out of the jungle and sent him to a rear area, where one of his tasks had been to quell civil rights unrest among the men. He did so with the help of a black sergeant who was as big as he was, a man for whom the young lieutenant had felt nothing but respect, admiration, and affection.

I never made that remark--or any other like it--again.

more...

http://tpmcafe.talkingpointsmemo.com/talk/blogs/deanie_mills/2009/06/hidden-hate-speech-and-the-pol.php?ref=fpd

Anybody who came of age in the 60's can certainly relate. I can remember sitting around listening to war stories with my Dad and Uncles. and the words used to describe people were considered mainstream. It really was a sad period of time in this country.

Some folks only make a fool of themselves the once, learn a lifelong lesson, and grow to be something better. The lesson is harder learned and more indelibly etched, the thoughtlessness never to be repeated when the idiocy is performed in front of -- and corrected by -- someone you love, admire, and even look up to.

for NEVER having used a racial/ethnic/gender slur. Even the most unprejudiced among us.

I have had to ask some house guests to please stifle themselves because it now offends me deeply. But i didn't find it particularly offensive 30 years ago. Strange how one's outlook changes over time. Some people get more bigoted and intolerant as they age. Others grow.

Good story, nice post.