Saturday, January 24, 2004
A TIME OF QUIET CONTENTION: A MEMORY...
As a child growing up, I remember Black identity as a confused mixture of boundaries of acceptances and unfeigned expression. Perms for Black women, for example, were vogue unless she wanted to make a bold statement of black-pride by wearing an Afro or "corn-rows." And shark-skinned suits for Black men were trendy unless he felt compelled to release his black pride by sporting a dashiki accessorized with a large medallion.
The irony of it all was that Black young people who came from the northwest side of town where predominately White folk lived, were the ones who emerged with dashikis and raised fists. But, the south side's more disadavantaged Black youth were the ones who tried harder to look like their White counterparts.
This was during the climax fo the Civil Rights Movement. White people never interfered with our need to express black pride; and the church was the main venue of expression especially through gospel music. White people did not seem to mind our cultural awareness, however, until we showed up at the office with ornamental braid, superfly shirts and platform shoes.
Still, our outlook on the future seemed brighter then. the Negro National Anthem was extremely popular. And, in sync with all other ethnic groups, Blacks finally had their own African-American Flag.
While James Brown crooned the air waves with "It's yo' thang, do whatja' wanta' do", Blacks emerged jubilantly with raise fists. And, the praise of "O Happy Day" reverberated from the lips of Black choirs in every pulpit.
Even middle-class neighborhoods were more intergrated. For example, Granny - my mother's Mom - lived in the house at the end of the road. A White family lived next to her, we lived next to them, then another Black family, then a Romanian family, a Hungarian family, another Black family and so on. The neighbors across the street were of the same diverse flavor. That is not to say that boundaries did not exist, because they did.
For example, the Black kids were not allowed to go swimming with White kids. And, although White kids played frequently on Black fold property, Black kids were not allowed on the White neighbor's lawns. Instead, the adults infrequently communicated over poorly constructed fences that often needed mending. And, even in the event of a neighbor's death, the races remained segregated. It was an unspoken rule which everyone followed religiously and never questioned.
It was also rare to see neighborhood people drive off to eat in restaurants. Family units were more cohesive then. The aroma of "soul food" that filtered through the unlocked tattered screen doors of Black homes filled the air harmoniously with the mouth-watering smells of Romanian and Hungarian women baking fresh breads and meats. We never worried about locking doors and windows because there was a greater respect for authority then and community, not necessarily for police or governmental influences; instead, the respect was for adults, especially the elderly, in our immediate community. It was a time when adults were addressed always as "Sir" or "Mam" and porches were humbly furnished with rocking chairs where old women sat adorned in flowered patterned dresses and granny tie-up shoes and aprons always tied tied around their wastes. Old men were often seen sitting on porches relaxing under the canopy of the porch roof protected from the afternoon hot sun puffing on a pipe and wearing suspender straps. Their hands were always impressive to me, however. I remember them being big, knarly with thick callus' formed from years of back-breaking work.
No, most things were not equal then and a lot of things are still unequal today. However, atleast, then, Blacks had unity, we had strong thriving churches and we had healthy family support. I am not suggesting that raised fists and segregation were ideal either, because they weren't. But, I believe that the heart and soul of this country is about the preservation of the simple dignity and way of living of average hard working Americans of all ethnic groups - the kind who attend town meetings. Wouldn't it be nice if we could all get along as well as the aromatic blening together of diverse foods filling the air?
As a child growing up, I remember Black identity as a confused mixture of boundaries of acceptances and unfeigned expression. Perms for Black women, for example, were vogue unless she wanted to make a bold statement of black-pride by wearing an Afro or "corn-rows." And shark-skinned suits for Black men were trendy unless he felt compelled to release his black pride by sporting a dashiki accessorized with a large medallion.
The irony of it all was that Black young people who came from the northwest side of town where predominately White folk lived, were the ones who emerged with dashikis and raised fists. But, the south side's more disadavantaged Black youth were the ones who tried harder to look like their White counterparts.
This was during the climax fo the Civil Rights Movement. White people never interfered with our need to express black pride; and the church was the main venue of expression especially through gospel music. White people did not seem to mind our cultural awareness, however, until we showed up at the office with ornamental braid, superfly shirts and platform shoes.
Still, our outlook on the future seemed brighter then. the Negro National Anthem was extremely popular. And, in sync with all other ethnic groups, Blacks finally had their own African-American Flag.
While James Brown crooned the air waves with "It's yo' thang, do whatja' wanta' do", Blacks emerged jubilantly with raise fists. And, the praise of "O Happy Day" reverberated from the lips of Black choirs in every pulpit.
Even middle-class neighborhoods were more intergrated. For example, Granny - my mother's Mom - lived in the house at the end of the road. A White family lived next to her, we lived next to them, then another Black family, then a Romanian family, a Hungarian family, another Black family and so on. The neighbors across the street were of the same diverse flavor. That is not to say that boundaries did not exist, because they did.
For example, the Black kids were not allowed to go swimming with White kids. And, although White kids played frequently on Black fold property, Black kids were not allowed on the White neighbor's lawns. Instead, the adults infrequently communicated over poorly constructed fences that often needed mending. And, even in the event of a neighbor's death, the races remained segregated. It was an unspoken rule which everyone followed religiously and never questioned.
It was also rare to see neighborhood people drive off to eat in restaurants. Family units were more cohesive then. The aroma of "soul food" that filtered through the unlocked tattered screen doors of Black homes filled the air harmoniously with the mouth-watering smells of Romanian and Hungarian women baking fresh breads and meats. We never worried about locking doors and windows because there was a greater respect for authority then and community, not necessarily for police or governmental influences; instead, the respect was for adults, especially the elderly, in our immediate community. It was a time when adults were addressed always as "Sir" or "Mam" and porches were humbly furnished with rocking chairs where old women sat adorned in flowered patterned dresses and granny tie-up shoes and aprons always tied tied around their wastes. Old men were often seen sitting on porches relaxing under the canopy of the porch roof protected from the afternoon hot sun puffing on a pipe and wearing suspender straps. Their hands were always impressive to me, however. I remember them being big, knarly with thick callus' formed from years of back-breaking work.
No, most things were not equal then and a lot of things are still unequal today. However, atleast, then, Blacks had unity, we had strong thriving churches and we had healthy family support. I am not suggesting that raised fists and segregation were ideal either, because they weren't. But, I believe that the heart and soul of this country is about the preservation of the simple dignity and way of living of average hard working Americans of all ethnic groups - the kind who attend town meetings. Wouldn't it be nice if we could all get along as well as the aromatic blening together of diverse foods filling the air?
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