This story begins with a brief family history shared with me from my mother and grandmother, whom I call "Nanny". If we want our stories to be remembered, we must start with documenting our own family history.
My great-grandfather, Percy Wright Sr., was born 35 minutes from Tulsa, Oklahoma within years of the 1921 massacre that occurred there. Though I imagine he faced and overcame racism throughout his entire life, those types of encounters have no relevance in how his loved ones remember him. No, what my mom and Nanny remember most is how he liked to work with his hands. Percy Wright Sr. was a welder by trade, one of the many skills he learned serving in the Navy during World War II. But it's his love for food and nature that has been passed down through our family's blood. He was a chef in the Navy, and he and my great-grandmother raised their children and grandchildren on a mini farm with chickens and such. Percy met my great-grandmother Helen completely by chance. He was working as a clerk in his uncle's store when she stopped in to purchase something no one remembers today, but he didn't let her leave the store without him. Together, they had four children, with my Nanny being their youngest child and only girl.
Nanny enjoyed her childhood; Mommy thinks she was spoiled. But it’s not the attention nor any material gifts that Nanny received, that makes her look at her adolescence fondly. It’s the time spent exploring her neighborhood with her childhood friends, who have remained close to her throughout their entire lives. Life wasn't too different in the 1950's and 60's, children enjoyed going to the swimming pool or library, and riding their bikes around the block. Again, I expected my Nanny to have some bad stories about growing up in the civil rights era, but only the happy memories were worth discussing. And once her friends started getting married off to each other, there were A LOT of good times. Nanny is best friends with my "Aunt" Vicky, who married my "Uncle" Howard, who has a brother named Ellis, that married Nanny's cousin Val. While this sounds like a messy situation, Nanny didn't mention any drama occurring that they all couldn't recover from.
I could spend paragraphs explaining my family dynamics, but all things will be revealed in due time. This conversation gave me a valuable reality check. Since attending an HBCU (Hail State!), I've been overly aware and concerned with the history of race relations and disparities in the U.S., and how these things affect our present and future. But it seems that once you have survived traumatic events, petty instances of racism don't make the highlight reel. It is the good times with family and friends that really count towards the end. The feel-good sentiments didn't stop me from prying deeper though. Whether racism is at the forefront of the Black Woman experience, or imbedded deep in the subconscious, I was convinced that my Nanny had a noteworthy story about racially charged interactions to share. So, we got back to it.
I needed to know if mommy or Nanny saw the violence the media has portrayed in Chicago firsthand. Apparently, violence has always been in Chicago, but Nanny grew up dealing with petty criminals with mean fists. Mommy experienced block wars where supremacy changed street to street. They look down on the young bulls who turn to knives and guns to solve disagreements, and rightfully so. While murder is not unique to millennials, the gang and mob cultures of previous generations were an underground scene glorified only in Hollywood films. To Gen X and above, we're whimps, cry-babies, weaklings. But really, we're fragile and afraid to feel pain in any form. The conversation about violence in Chicago quickly turned to a finger-pointing session about which generation destroyed the city more.
So, I redirect the conversation back to the matter at hand. I'm trying to figure out if racism has affected my Nanny's life in any impactful way, but the way she keeps diverging, so far, the answer is looking like "eh, not really". Which she confirms after I ask her if her considers herself prejudiced against wypipo. Nanny sees everyone at face value and takes them for who they are, white or black. Mommy interjects funnily explaining that there are white people and black people, then there are crackers and niggers. Great way to put that we all agree.
What I come to realize by this point in the conversation, is that at age 65, Nanny is far more concerned with age than race. While people of all races annoy nanny equally at work, it is the 20 and 30-year-olds that really get under her skin. They are lazy, they quit, they don't even show up. But I remind her that she doesn’t know everyone's specific situations that could be causing these incidents to occur; have a little sympathy. No breaks here though because personal issues are no excuse for poor communication. Nanny often tries to be a mentor to millennials on her job, but she is also very particular about who she shares information with. It is that small detail, that causes her to get into an altercation with a coworker for jumping in her lunch time conversation. Lesson learned here: If someone isn't talking directly to you, the best thing to do is just listen.
If you haven't caught on by this point, like a lioness on the hunt, I am not easily deterred from the mission at hand. So, I pry a little deeper and ask Nanny about her worst experience with a white person versus her worst experience with a black person. But the nut doesn't roll too far from the squirrel, and she's even more stubborn and persistent than I am. Nanny claims that her worst experiences are the same to her, she doesn't measure one and worse than the other because she sees it all as disrespect. Again, nut and squirrel, so I understand how she feels but I’m still not convinced. For her, work is common denominator for most bad experiences. We spend at least 10 hours of our day in work-related activities and leaving work problems at the door is easier said than done. Combine lies with character defamation, and the only color Nanny sees when someone gets under her skin is red. Even when work is challenging her sanity, she relies on her honesty to see her through. Knowing that the truth is unwavering, she has beaten many close cases.
From this conversation we can maybe say that older black women really don't carry a lot of racial prejudice in their hearts towards white people. At least not in a life-altering kind of way. Millennials grind their gears so much more. Despite all of that, I am grateful to hear the perspective of my grandmother in how she relates to people of all races and ages and I hope to be a lot like her one day. Minus the youth-bashing. These are the black women I come from and I could not be prouder, even if we are kind of nutty.
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