Guess Who's Coming to Visit
By Judy Bauman
My grandmother charged toward me like a seething rhino and bellowed, "Get that penny out of your mouth!" The enormous two hundred and fifty pound woman eclipsed the doorway. Her face was contorted in anger. Startled, I nearly swallowed the coin. In a deep, harsh, thunderous voice she scolded me, "Don't you know that could have been in a black man's toilet?" As she turned and slowly waddled away, my fear turned to confusion. I thought, why would a black man's toilet be worse than any one else's? My young mind could not grasp the ignorant, bigoted, cruel comment that she thought I would blindly accept. The wisecrack seemed unnecessarily damning and caused me to seriously question her judgment.
Years later, I was brought face to face with the same dark hatred that my grandmother displayed. Hatred that poisons the soul of humanity, and its roots sustain caustic poison and bitterness that entangle its heart.
It was a lovely, warm, spring morning in Belleville, Illinois, as my young children and I enjoyed a scenic drive around my husband's home town. He was spending the first day of our vacation with his father, so we decided to have a look around. Main Street was lined with bright green flora, and elegantly painted flower blossoms. Spacious yards were neatly landscaped and well groomed. The soft, gentle breeze danced in the tender young leaves of the towering oak trees. Sumptuous porches hugged Victorian homes. Each home possessed unique and charming personalities. Some sang of warm summer nights when young lovers would gaze longingly into each other's eyes. Others spoke in the quiet whispers of elderly couples who peacefully enjoy the sweet spring air. All the homes seemed to echo the laughter of childhood memories. In the center of town, a fountain glistened radiantly as the water reflected its splendor. An array of ornate flowers surrounded it and they saturated the warm air with the marriage of their sweet fragrances. The aroma was intoxicating. Cobblestone roads of yesterday shook us like jello as we drove over them. My children giggled gleefully. As we approached the end of Main Street, I was intrigued by a lofty church steeple appearing high in the sky across Highway 151. We drove over to investigate.
On the other side of the highway, Main turned into State Street. As we passed the church, it looked as if we had entered a war zone in another country or anther place in time. Huge decrepit buildings were scarred with smoke damage, strangulated by weeds and littered with debris. They appeared to have been bombed in an invasion. Homes and businesses were neglected like orphaned children. They suffered from peeling paint, bare rotting roofs, and decomposing steps. Most had deteriorated beyond hope of repair. No one seemed to care. Inhabitants placed iron bars on their windows and doors, thus making themselves prisoners. There was a combination of stale smoke, rancid garbage, and the stench of urine coming through the car's vents. Only a few short moments before there had been a sweet scent of flower blossoms in the air. Now, the foul odor coming in made me feel sick to my stomach.
On the right side of the street a filthy, grotesque man staggered. His hardened face morphed into the brown bag he carried. The drunkard's emaciated body was the essence of death; he was a walking corpse searching for a grave. Across the street a scantily dressed, blond woman made her way like a sidewinder who slithers back and forth until finding comfort under a rock. As she vacillated, her head bobbed up and down as she fought each step in her broken high heel. Her eyes were glazed over. The dark roots of her hair were grown out and streaks of dark mascara ran down her face. Both were unaware of our intrusion. A group of black men were huddled by a stop sign. They stood in front of a liquor store that doubled as a pawn shop. They were smoking cigarettes and talking as we approached. Suddenly, the men turned and looked at us with an alarmingly hateful glare. They yelled obscenities, then launched their cigarette butts at our car. Chills ran up my spine. I bit my lip when my children fidgeted nervously in the back seat, and the taste of blood lingered in my mouth. Not fully stopping, I turned left and asked my children to sit still and assured them they need not worry. Without thinking, I put my finger on the door lock button, and felt the assurance of its mechanism smoothly clicking into place.
Around the corner I altered my misguided course. Gravel sprayed out from behind the back tires. A cloud of thick dust rose in the air from our quick acceleration. A sheriff who had been hidden from sight lunged toward me. The steering wheel felt like putty in my clenched hands, and my trembling foot came off the accelerator. He suspiciously inspected my quickly approaching vehicle, but when our eyes met he nodded at me to acknowledge my predicament. He either knew it would be dangerous for all of us to stop me for speeding, or he didn't care. Whatever the case, I resumed my previous pace. I catapulted our car out of the town I learned later was East St. Louis. The unfailing, steadfast purr of the engine gave me comfort. My children sat quietly in the back seat. I glanced into the rear-view mirror and sighed deeply as the miniature figures of the malcontent society faded from my sight. Our departure had only taken a few minutes, but proved to be a profoundly illuminating experience.
A side of racism was revealed to me which before hand I had been unaware. I found prejudice is not solely a white man's sin as so often it has been portrayed. As I believed it to be. It is a sin to anyone who harbors hatred toward another for no reason other than their skin color. History has revealed, if we do not learn from our mistakes, we are destined to repeat them. Vehement hostilities continue to create a deep chasm of hatred and distrust. Prejudice thrives in both. What makes one race different from another? I believe that regardless of our skin's color we are all basically the same. We all have similar needs and wants in life, such as food, shelter, clothing, love and friendship. We all bleed red blood. We want to cry when we hurt, or when we suffer pain and heartache. Each of us have times in our life that we celebrate and are joyful. Bigotry has been the cause of so many wasted gifts we have been given to share with one another. So I ask you, how much more will be wasted before we learn that racism is an injustice we can live without?
The greatest Teacher who ever lived, or ever will live, Jesus of Nazareth, taught us to love one another as we love ourselves. A key here is for us to love ourselves, so we can love others. We can not reflect love towards others if we have none to give. Forgiveness is another key that will unlock the iron gate. Forgiveness not only towards previous generations for their racism, but for ourselves for what we have personally done to other to hurt another. We need to both ask for and give forgiveness. This is a significant point in the Lord's Prayer. Jesus taught us to pray, "Our Father... forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." (Matthew 6:12) Forgiven us AS we forgive. This is vitally important to our peace of mind. The Apostle Paul wrote in letters we may read in the Bible which teach us that in God's eyes there is no distinction of races. We are all made one in Christ Jesus. (Gal 3:28, Col 3:11, Ephesians 2:11-22, Romans 3:22-24, 10:12,13) As we let go of the past and allow the healing touch of Jesus to come into our hearts, we will be able to let go of hatred for people with different pigment from ourselves. I believe this is the only way to completely eradicate racism. (John 11:50-52)
This is a great truth that we need to cling to as a society, as a nation, as a world to make us whole. We can continue to live in hatred and mistrust, or can we let go of the darkness of the past, and let His light shine in our hearts and minds. Life is so short. Do we really want to waste it in anger and dissension over skin color which can not be changed? Are we ready to let go of this unnecessary burden we as people have carried for thousands of years? Who will decide this? We must each decide for ourselves.
Copyright © 1998 All rights reserved
originally written in 1994
received 1st place essay
Tulsa Community College
Revised 4/16/98
