Sticks and Stones: the First Time I was Called the "N" Word

The first time I was called the “N” word, I was in the third grade.  

I was at a high school football game.  My Alma Mater had just scored a touchdown, and as a long standing tradition went, the cheerleaders threw candy into the stands to celebrate.  As kids we would run underneath the bleachers and greedily collect any fallen goodies.  My friend Jenna and I (always together, never apart) walked side by side around the perimeter of the stands, looking for any lost treasure, when a voiced yelled out “Nigger!”  We turned abruptly to a group of three high school boys and one little boy no older than six standing about ten feet away.  One of the teenagers leaned in towards the little boy and said “say it again.”  So he did.  

They all laughed.  I watched the young boy look proudly at the teens giddy in their acceptance.  I looked directly into the ring leader’s face and he smirked at me, challenging me to say something.  His distaste for me palpable.  I shrank, I looked at the ground, and I felt ashamed.  I didn’t say anything, I didn’t dare.  Because that’s what supremacy does.  That’s the point of oppression.  It can cause damage and wounds so deep that sometimes you can’t stand up for yourself.  

But you know who did stand up?  Jenna.  (Just a couple of years older than me, a best friend from grade school, who remains a friend today and happens to be white.)  Her feet firmly planted in the ground and a head held high, she wrapped her arm around my defeated shoulders and said “Nope!” “Not ok!”  With courage and love Jenna took a stand and she did what was right, no “but’s” about it.  Because she was my friend and she loved me.   Because that’s what we are called to do as sisters and keepers in Christ.

We walked back to the bleachers, seeking the safety of our parents.  My small frame cloaked in Jenna’s protection.

 Something forever changed in me that day. I was eight years old, full of light and joy.  I was always aware of my brown skin as I navigated a world in which I was adopted into a white family and raised in a predominantly white community.  But suddenly my skin color was a “bad” thing, in an instant that innocent light inside me was extinguished by one vile word for absolutely no reason.  From that point on I would/will have to choose my battles.  From that point on I would be called “n” word again and again.  From that point on I would be followed around by sales clerks while shopping.  From that point on I would be pulled over by the police for no reason and never be given one.   

Please understand I’m not complaining and for someone who can have a flare for the dramatics that’s not what I’m attempting here.  In fact compared to many I have lived and continue to live a fairly privileged life.  I also realize this was a long time ago and my oppressors were children themselves.  I certainly can’t blame a five year old being taught a racial slur. But this was a small private Christian school that we were all students at. The young men that were taunting me were classmates of my older siblings, and students of my mother who was an English teacher at the time.  Sixteen or Seventeen years old they were at an age to know better.  A racial slur was being taught to a child, precious and innocent and I wondered who had the older boys learned it from?  And now in the aftermath of the terrorist attacks in Charlottesville, I wonder how many members of the Alt right movement, KKK and Nazi Groups started out as young kids yelling racial epithets as a dare.

I reflect on all this now because after a girls weekend in Colorado with a bestie and her incredible family, I was greeted on Sunday night not just by the arms of my children and husband.  But also by the devastating news of Charlottesville, filling my inbox and flooding my social media feeds.  The past three days I have found myself crying out to God for justice and peace.  My emotions flip flopping from, sadness, anger, despair, hope, then back to sadness.  I find myself tucking my kids in at night and dropping them off at school, telling them to remember that Jesus loves them, they belong to him, he is in their hearts and that will never change, so overcome by emotion that I begin to weep.

Yet again it feels like my “light” has been blown out by hatred and terror, the wounds and damage so deep it’s hard to stand.  All around this country the light and love belonging to marginalized groups is being smothered out by darkness.

We are all covered by the same Christ, we are all one in Christ.

“So in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”   - Galatians 3:26-28

In heaven we will all worship the Lord together.

"As the new heavens and the new earth that I make will endure before me," declares the LORD, "so will your name and descendants endure.”   - Isaiah 66:22

Let’s worship the Lord together here, now.  Let’s reclaim the light.  Filling the flames with love, kindness, friendship, trust and Grace.  So we will burn brighter than ever before unable to be put out again.