On Mending Fences With Black America

Here the Black caseworker and others seem to feel that it is requisite for a white wonan to suffer a little in exchange for Black womens (and mens) suffering.  Au contraire, ny friends, i started giving before i was 10, ive already written about it, i was the victim of the first de facto affirmative action project in education,  involving a Black female scholarship student from Harlem at one of the top 10 boarding schools in America.   Im tired of talking about it.  It so severely compromised my future that my chances were slim when i went to Hutton, and i was lucky to make it through at all.  I wasnt prepared for college.  I had learned how to make A’s without learning anything.  I didn’t “learn how to learn.”  Its a story ive told before and i dont want to tell it again, about being mainstreamed from the special needs English class because she claimed that the teacher was prejudiced when i got an A and she got a B.  And that summer he shot himself.

I was popular and i was cool.  But i was nowhere;  ironically it took going to Hutton, including the sexual abuse at home, to find my way again.  I got completely lost in that elite world of a prestigious boarding school, and if Hutton was a step even higher, the international connection fit like an old shoe, and the New York connection that ran through both my childhood and Wayland School, proved through.

I had Black friends at Hutton.   I had one Black enemy: a girl who put on a play about Blacks turning the table on whites, very psychological and disturbing; i didnt like the way she looked at me after that.  Slowly i learned sbout Black people’s particular hatred, or affected disdain, for Anglo Saxons, and i retrenched my loving nature.  Annie, rhe roommate at Wayland, told me that i was prejudiced  along with all the others.   It hurt me terribly.  I dont renember that we ever talked again.  I akways worried about it after that.  That was my fear in Germantown, Maryland:  Am i prejudiced?  The question has kept a discussion open about Black and white, one in which i have been  concerned for doing good and in which i have often taken a beating when others would say, in the words if a passing car i once heard, full of whites,  to another car, full of  Blacks, “jack yourself bitch”

In my mind i hear my mither encouraging me along this course, and it is the route to a sense if humor, which i had lost, or never had.  I lived to help Blacks and Jews.   Now its MY turn.

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