Racism’s Toll on Family: Be Careful What You Wish For
Dear A & H…Yes, I know, a post that has nothing to do with running. But, with so much news about rioting and hate, running’s not helping to distract me. Maybe a little thinking out loud with the keyboard will help.
Hate, Trump, and a Boy
It’s distressing, seeing images of rioting in Charlottesville. Then, there was the man who decided to ruin his life by driving into the crowd.
If that weren’t enough, there was news of a van running people over in Spain this week, too.
Looking at it from any angle, it’s sad all the way around.
People clashing because of differences in nothing tangible, all for outdated, old-fashioned, ill-begotten ideas of race and ideology.
The anger, ranting, violence…
Goodness, in the name of all that is fair and just in the world, why do people have to behave this way?
Over the past few days and a couple long runs, I’ve tried to wrap my head around what’s going on but without much luck.
Surprisingly, one person keeps popping into my head…Barron Trump.
His father, because of not outrightly condemning the White Nationalists who assembled in Virginia, is fittingly under the microscope and people are alarmed by what they think they see.
Was the delay because he somehow sides with them, believes in their cause?
If yes, then my heart goes out to Barron (and all the children of white nationalists who are unafraid to show their true colors).
Because, in the slim chance white supremacists have their way and create their ideal society, they’ll never really win or know true success.
I’m not talking about the eventual failure of their cause…because that’s really what the future holds (don’t they remember what happened to Hitler and his efforts?)…but the generational damage these ideas will inflict on their families.
I speak a little from experience.
Yes, I Really Am German
I never knew my grandfather. As I sit here and write, I, embarrassingly, can’t remember his name.
Friedrich, maybe?
I know only a few things about him.
He could draw well. When he wrote letters, he would draw pictures in the margins. He was also a medic during WWII and supposedly died because of a dirty needle used when he was giving blood. His body is still in Russia.
His brothers also fought. One died in Stalingrad and the other, though he survived being a prisoner in Siberia, didn’t come back “right.”
That’s about it.
Only on rare occasions will my mother take out old black and white photos and point out relatives.
I can’t remember the last time she did. Maybe a couple decades ago?
I know she doesn’t want to revisit old hurts and the shame she feels from being associated with Hitler’s Germany.
She really shouldn’t. She was only a child and not responsible for the decisions adults in her family made. Yet, knowing her father and uncles fought for him, that’s an uncomfortable place for her mind to go.
An Unanswerable Question
But, were they Nazis?
I really don’t know. All she says is that they were “in the German army.” Maybe it’s easier to “remember” this way, to not speak of Hitler or use the “N” word.
Yet, if my grandfather was an actual Nazi who believed in Hitler’s ideas, maybe not meeting him is no loss.
You see, if he survived, maybe he wouldn’t have approved of me. Yes, I am “German,” but you wouldn’t know it. With my brown hair and brown eyes, and the ability to tan remarkably well, I look more like my dad. He’s Native American and dark as any African.
So, with no way of getting around who I am or look like, would my grandfather have accepted me? Would being a product of his own blood make him love me the same as his other – but 100% German – grandchild in spite of my colorful genetics?
I’ll never know. But, again, maybe it’s all for the best because, if he wasn’t accepting, that’s a hurt I would have a hard time dealing with. A big hurt to add to all the little hurts I’ve received over the years from people holding me at arm’s length because of who my parents are and/or the color of my skin.
Thankfully, people are more and more open-minded and accepting than even just a little while ago.
A Hypothetical Future
Hypothetically, what if it so happens that society successfully dumps 21st-century progressiveness and starts walking in the shadow of early 20th-century bigotry and xenophobia?
What if white supremacists win?
I can’t imagine what that would look like. I don’t want to know what that would look like.
Maybe that’s why I’ve been thinking about Barron.
Imagine it’s 20 years in the future and Barron finds the love of his life and they decide to marry. She’s well-educated, accomplished, and loves Barron unconditionally as he does her.
The only catch, she’s black.
What would his father say?
And, in the event grandchildren should enter the picture, would he love them as much as he does the grandchildren he has now?
If he does, great! A little hypocritical, but wonderful for those children.
If not, what a great misfortune for all parties. In fact, a tragedy with wounds that could last many lifetimes.
These moral dilemmas should never see the light of day. Humanity should never willingly open a door to them.
Look at starvation. It’s never seen as good or beneficial. Hate, in all its forms, is no better. Starvation, if not remedied, takes life. Hate, if not kept in check, drains humanity from life.
Our greatest aspiration as a global people should be walking away from that which divides us. Feeding it, we only hurt ourselves in the long run.
Reality
Unfortunately, there will always be individuals who believe in their superiority. Mostly, and thankfully, it stays private and never gets spoken about or acted upon.
But, there will be those who won’t stay quiet.
To them, I say, “Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it.”
In the off chance you win, you ultimately lose, my friend.
Much love, O.M.
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