When I was in the 7th grade, my family moved from an Air Force base in Korea to Norfolk, Virginia, so my father could attend the Air War College.
Until this particular move, I'd never had an issue with my family relocating every couple of years.
This time was different.
I was older. Had more friends. Was in the process of discovering my early-teen self and truly believed I'd never be happy again if forced to leave my friends. I mean, Melissa had just given me half of her Best Friend necklace...that MEANT something.
While they didn't seem to care much about my grief over the necklace, my parents did try to comfort me and promised I'd adjust and make friends again.
"I won't. I'll never have another friend EVER AGAIN!" I meant it to.
For weeks, I wallowed in my despair and tried to come to terms with living life as a loner. My parents didn't understand me and I wanted to kick my little brother for being perfectly happy and well adjusted. I brooded, hated everything we ate and every place we went.
Even the beach. And I love the beach. I was that determined to be miserable.
My attitude led to several "Young lady, you better shape up or else" speeches.
School started and I hated it too. The kids were rougher than I was used to and for the first time, I learned what a gang was. I was scared. I wanted my old life back.
Chantel was the first person I remember talking to.
She was in my honors classes, always sitting directly in front of the teacher, taking copious notes and focused on maintaining her nearly perfect GPA.
I felt comfortable around her, like I'd finally met someone "normal" who didn't scare me.
We became friends and I started laughing again. I had someone to walk arm-in-arm with down the hallways. Talk to at night. Gossip.
We had a big test coming up and Chantel asked me if I wanted to come over to her house to study. She'd been to my house several times, but I'd never been to hers.
I told her I'd love it and arranged for my dad to drop me off that Saturday.
The weekend came and I packed my book and notes in my backpack and my Dad and I headed out. We followed the directions Chantel had given me the day before and as we got closer to the address, the houses got older, the spray paint more noticeable and the people more weathered.
We arrived at Chantel's and she was waiting outside a tiny townhouse that looked like it might collapse. Her mom was standing in the doorway, looking beautiful and super motherly, an apron tied around her slim waist and a smile I could see from the seat of my dad's car.
I jumped out, grabbed my bag and waved to my father. I ran over to Chantel, hugged her and met her mom.
We holed up at her rickety kitchen table and studied for hours while her mom made us sandwiches and kept the Kool-Aid coming.
She told us to take a break and gave us a few dollars to walk to the corner store. We loaded up on candy, those little sugar dots that stick to paper, and started to skip home.
About halfway home, Chantel grabbed my hand and stopped our forward skipping progress.
She was smiling really, really big.
"What?" I laughed.
"I just want to thank you. For coming out here."
"What do you mean?"
"You're my first....friend...who, um, who's parents would let them come."
"What? Why?" I truly was confused.
"Because I'm black. And poor."
I was stunned. I didn't even know how to respond.
I mean, of course I knew she was black, but I never saw color. I saw, Smartest Girl in School. I saw, Loved Child. I saw, Cool Mom. I saw, Best Friend.
The kind I would have been proud to share a necklace with.
I grabbed her hand, squeezed, and we skipped all the way back to her house.
I've thought about this conversation many times in my life and I think it was my first experience with racism. I didn't understand it then, and I don't now.
I didn't want to move to Norfolk, but I am so grateful we did. Not only did I adjust, but I learned what kind of person I wanted to be.
I wanted to be Heather. Not White Heather.
I wanted to be friends with Chantel. Not Black Chantel.
I wanted none of that to matter.
Because for me, it didn't. Still doesn't.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Growing Up.
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20 comments:
Yep, another hero star is floating above your head.
You are an amazing person and I am lucky to call you friend.
a beautiful story... tho... skipping and holding hands - um in the 7th grade?
:)
fiesty: I love you for saying that and you know how I do love me a hero star, but I wasn't a hero. I was DOING WHAT I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DOING. I think that was my whole point, you know. I had no idea anyone would have considered NOT being friends with Chantel based on her skin color. Frankly, if anyone deserves that hero star, it's her :)
weese: LOL. I know, I know. I assure you, Chantel was straight as they come. boys boys boys....she did most of the talking on that subject :)
A very sweet story.
Might you still be in touch with Chantel today?
Amber: I wish I was. I'd love to know what became of her. She was so smart and if I remember correctly, wanted to be a doctor. We were only in VA for 6 months before we moved to Tampa. She and I wrote for a little bit, but then lost contact. I've always remembered this moment, though.
I wish people were color blind. And wish they are gender blind as well. What matters more is the person, not the skin they wear.
I grew up in Singapore... had Indian, Malay and Chinese friends. Like you, I wasn't aware of the color UNTIL society pointed that out. In that sense, I'd say ignorance is truly bliss.
What's with the world man? What's with it? Sigh..
Lynnette: I totally agree. And my kids just might find themselves in Chantel's shoes....with friend's whose parents won't let them come over because s/he has two mommies. That makes me sad, but if my kid is as smart and strong as Chantel was, I know it will all be okay and I'd take a strong kid over a racist one any day!
Britt: Your comment came through, but I accidentally hit delete instead of publish, sorry! I too saw that link (http://perezhilton.com/2008-10-22-got-hope)
and thought it was powerful. Reminded me of the Girl Effect video I posted a while back. Thanks for sharing and sorry about the accidental delete!
you know when we were in the states for 7 months our kids attended a public school. the kids talked all about the different friends they had there. will's closest friend was manuel who we learned was from venezuela. ag's best friend was harley. i loved that name. at the christmas party right before we left i had the chance to meet harley. she was black. at no point in the 4+ months of school did ag ever mention that fact. it made me proud that she didn't think it was an issue. i think living overseas helped shape her. while we never would have made those distinctions they would have been made for her in the schools unfortunately. thanks for sharing your story!
nice story. judy blume worthy :)
Natalie: Yep, kids get it. It's adults who change their perceptions and make them dislike or distrust someone because of their skin color, riches, gender, or who they love. It's all about power and control. Makes me sad any of us ever have to grow up....
Mars: LOL. You just might be right. Guess that means I need to go back and include some "I must, I must, I must increase my bust" moments!
woah heather.. i never thought of it in that way.
yeah.. i wonder what it'd be like for the kids with gay parents.
Btw.. when are you guys going to have em kids?
When I was a twelve year old I was allowed to have a birthday party. I invited about eight friends. One was a girl named Gwendaline, her real name just in case she is reading please accept my apologies.
When my father found out she was
black he had a fit. We would have to go out and buy plastic spoons and paper dishes and ask permission of the parents of the other kids.
No, she could not come, it was just too too much of a problem.
However, he WAS willing to allow my mother to take me and Gwen out for ice cream some day.
When my girls were young one of them fell in love with a kid named Billy.
Billy this, Billy that, for weeks I heard about his brilliance, his baseball expertise, his ability to draw anything in a matter of seconds.
One afternoon upon returning home I found a twelve year old black boy sitting at our backyard picnic table.
He introduced himself as Billy. Finally!
My daughter had told me everything that MATTERED to her about Billy.
Could not have been prouder!
As a gay parent, with 5 kids between us, I can honestly say that for the most part, our house has always been the "go to" house. I don't think that it has anything to do with us being gay, as it has to do with the fact that, with the boys, we had food. With our daughter, well she has grown up with a parent working a 12 step program, and has been going to AA meetings since she was three, so she is very wise for her short 15 years of age, and her friends know this. Sadly, we live in a very red state, but for the most part the kids understand that our family is just like any other family.
Lynnette: as soon as we can work out all of the details! One way or the other, we'll start the process before the end of summer next year!
mm sugar: that nearly made me cry. both stories. thank you for sharing them :)
dlh: I truly hope our children receive the same reception. I find that the kids normally have no adverse reaction, it's their parents...here's hoping the world has evolved enough for our children to never think twice about asking friends over. Although, with all the nasty scare tactics being used right now to scare folks away from trying to understand gay people...I don't know how far we've actually come...
i remember a moment when i was in boston for two years (2nd and 3rd grade). most kids were nice to me, but somehow my best friends ended up being black or asian (i'm indian). and they thought i lived in a tent and rode camels because i came from the middle East. the first time i saw a camel was in the Boston zoo. :S
sounds like you and Chantel needed each other and met each other at the perfect moment in both of your lives.
Mars: That made me laugh out loud, the Boston zoo ending :) Love it.
Meleah: I totally agree.
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