I Wonder if He Knows?

When I was pregnant, my (pregnant also) boss had a converation with an African-American lady at my work that went like this:

Gayla: I am so tired, I don't know if I'm going to make it through this pregnancy.

Charlotte: At least your baby will know where the hell he belongs, not like that half-breed over there that red-headed girl's carrying.

Gayla didn't tell me about this conversation until long after Charlotte had left Unity, and Zion was here. I really had a hard time digesting this - everyone had been so accepting of Zion and Mike in my life, any difficulty we encountered was quickly conquered.

I have, slowly but surely, become more educated when it comes to black history, though I certainly don't hold a degree in African-American studies. I am more aware, though, of the sacrifices people made to ensure that I could be with the man that I love, and Zion could exist without fear of persecution.

I was watching my father-in-law play with Zion today, and it occurred to me that this man had been through so much, not even knowing that he was working to make the world safe for his future grandson. He was expelled from college for participating in a sit-in in 1968. He got caught in the middle of the race riots here in Kansas City that same year.

His sister fled the area after being featured on the front page of a local newspaper as a member of the Black Panther Party (she was helping feed black students free breakfasts). She's lived in Houston ever since. Her friend, a distant cousin of Congressman Emmanuel Cleaver's, has lived in South Africa since the early 1970's because of a weapons charge. He was targeted as a result of his affiliation with the Panthers, and fled there to avoid prison. He is still there, fighting for a pardon so he can return to the U.S. to see his family.

One of my supervisors at work, also a former Black Panther, actually acted as a guard for Huey P. Newton during Panther rallies. How strange to hear him talk about participating in the riots in Kansas City - torching buildings, throwing molotov cocktails at National Guard tanks, and chasing police down the street after causing their cruisers to crash - and then, the following day, hearing another co-worker talk about his own time on the police force during the riots and how the "stupid colored people" torched their own homes and businesses while law enforcement guarded the Country Club Plaza. I wonder if it gave my supervisor any satisfaction when he considered their current chain-of-command...

I want my son to know about the sacrifices these people made for him. He doesn't have to sit in a special place in a restaurant, or "move to the back of the bus" because of his skin color. Yes, there are still people that have a problem with bi-racial relationships, but for the most part, he is loved and accepted by many. I hope that he will never question why his parents couldn't have fallen in love with "one of their own kind," and he will realize that his freedoms and opportunities have come from years of hardship experienced by people who didn't know him; people who had no obligation to try to make his world better, but they did it anyway.

This is what I see when I watch my son interact with his grandfather - a grandfather who had no idea that he would exist, let alone what color his skin would be - who labored and sacrificed so that we wouldn't have to. It's a beautiful thing, and I hope I'm able to convey the appreciation I feel to my son when he's old enough to understand it.