One of our best friends is a beautiful Black man. It is a mind-boggling thing to realize that only a generation ago, not only could neither of us have dated someone Black, but we could not have taken him out to our favorite restaurants for his birthday. He could not have walked down the street with me as a companion, or sat down to a friendly lunch out with my husband.
As a child of the mid-1980's who grew up in a port city, I take racial freedom for granted. I took for granted that my schools were a gumbo of ethnicities. I take for granted that my favorite restaurant is owned by an interracial couple, and most of my other preferred ones will have white servers taking orders for tables of Black patrons. I take for granted my friend and her wife's interracial relationship, and my own ability to talk through the Chili cook-off hand-in-hand with my friend.
These are just normal parts of my life that I rarely even given them thought.
I like to think that my ability to take these thigns for granted is what Dr King hoped for a generation ago when he spoke to my parents' and their companions.
Of course, there is still room to grow, and progress which deperately needs to be made. Segregated Mardi Gras Societies in my hometown drove me away from the Balls I'd once enoyed, and knowing that my dear friend could not have accompanied me as an escort to the Ball given by one of my family members' Societies is a painful and infuriating reminder of that. Another family member's half-in-jest-all-in-seriousness comment before the 2008 elections that they were, "just going to vote for someone White," brought home to me just how close some of the need for progress is. Another family member baited me by continuing to tell racist jokes in my home, even after being asked not to.
Yet small steps, no matter how difficult, still move us closer to our goals. After my not-very-funny family member was asked to leave my home, I have never since heard a racist joke under my roof. I am open with my family about why I rarely return to my hometown for Mardi Gras, and my one Ball of the Mardi Gras season is that of the Order of Osiris, open to all, regardless of sexuality or ethnicity. I will never change another's mind through my own beliefs, but I can know that I will not be silent when I am confronted with even covert racism, and that because of that my friends and family may not so easily ignore their own.
I can walk down the street street now, holding hands with one of my dearest friends, his skin color irrelevant, and I take that for granted thanks to the thousands who worked, fought, were injured, and died in the name of equality. I owe to them my own efforts, however small they may be- and I owe them to my many friends and loved ones with whom I can openly socialize in ways my parents and grandparents could not have. Moreover, I owe it to my friends and loved ones who still are hurt by racism, overt and covert, where it continues to lurk.
Lastly, I owe it to my son, that he may find the entire concept an antiquated silliness, like the concept of women not voting or our gay friends' relationships being illegal.
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