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I am trying to figure out how I feel about my parents’ prejudice.  Despise comes to mind, along with embarrassed, ashamed, angry, guilty, humiliated and appalled.  I knew from my experience during my senior year, as written in post:  *Age 17 – What My Parents Taught Me About Racism, that my parents were hypocrites about people and racist.  But reading about it in my parents’ 1957 that I am in the process of transcribing now is sickening.

I am prejudice against prejudice people.  While I might feel uncomfortable with my ignorance about other people’s cultures other than the one I was born into and therefore understand, that discomfort I feel is pointed at ME and my shortcomings, not other people.

Evidently racism was a part of my family’s culture, and that surprises me.  Fortunately, I never bought it, never borrowed it, do not own it.  In fact, I hate racism and prejudice and I consider it malevolent and in every way ABUSIVE.

I find that my emotional reaction at finding these racist comments in my parents’ letters creates more of a reaction to unjust, unfair and just plain WRONG attitudes, beliefs and treatment of others than even my mother’s abuse of me does.

Child abuse has never been socially condoned.  My parents would have been ‘on their own’ without social support for the abuse in our home.  But racism is different.  It is an abuse that is socially condoned and shared – not by all, of course, but certainly by far more people than the numbers that ‘support’ child abuse!  In my thinking, both forms of abuse are equally wrong and harmful.

I was thinking about this fact, too.  I cannot see ANY time when racism is justified or acceptable.  In my mind it is perpetrated upon innocent people.  Somehow I don’t see myself as this kind of innocent person in relation to my parents’ treatment of me – as if I somehow deserved what they did to me because I was their child and a member of THAT family.  Unlike the innocent people I see as victims of the abuse and maltreatment of racism and prejudice, I must on some level see myself – AS my parents’ child being guilty by association.

Why can I feel more outrage at the injustice of their prejudice and racism than I can for what happened to me and my siblings?  There is something about UNFAIR versus fair, as if being a member of my family made me ‘fair game’.  I don’t feel the same sense of shame toward my parents for the child abuse in our home as I do for their racism against ‘innocent others’.

Why do I feel humiliation at my parents’ prejudice?  It isn’t MINE.  Again, guilt by association?

I didn’t know I felt this way until I encountered what my parents wrote in these letters.  I’m not finished with the transcription of all their 1957, but these selections make their stance clear:

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In his June 16, 1957 letter from my father who was in Anchorage, Alaska to my mother who was still in Los Angeles, California, I found this description:

“Another thing that has startled me – and I know it will you too – is the absence of any “color barrier.”  There are quite a few colored G.I.s here, and they have just as much right to family housing as anyone else.  So they’re scattered throughout the different developments at random, and their children play with the rest on an equal basis.  You might find yourself living next door to one, and housing being as short as it is nobody is going to move because of it.  I just thought I’d let you know these things in advance so you won’t be surprised when you get here.

There are going to be a good many things for all of us to get used to here, and it will probably take a while before we can be sure whether we like it or not.  It’s hard for me to tell now, things will all seem so different when we’re together here.”

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In her July 26, 1957 letter mother writes to father:

“She [Linda note:  No idea who Mother is referring to here – her mother?] just left as she said her house was a mess after the women left.  She said everything went fine but it ended up costing her a fortune.  She provided a ham and turkey, which she had cooked outside.  She had her colored lady there all day and in the evening plus men out last week to wash walls, plus a team of men all day yesterday to garden etc.  Even so, she said she never would have been ready if Charlie hadn’t saved the day by coming over and carving the meat etc.  He worked in the kitchen for hours she said – that was thoughtful and nice!

Dr. Pratt, the woman doctor in the group, brought her colored nanny to help plus her three children.  She brings them everywhere and the oldest is only 7.  I hope Mother liked that!  I wouldn’t go over yesterday afternoon with our well-behaved darlings (and they’re!!!) for fear of upsetting things.  She says the doctor’s kids are bold brats too!  Well, it’s over and I bet she’s relieved.  I know we always are!”

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I am including a bit more of mother’s July 5, 1957 letter describing what we did without my father with us on the 4^th of July as context for her racist remarks:

“Finally I decided it wasn’t fair making everyone unhappy and we got picnic things together and I drove back to Lytle Creek, where I had enjoyed myself so much with the children.

I never should have returned.  Sometimes it’s better to keep a happy memory than to try to repeat it.

We had a miserable time from beginning to end as I shall relate.

On the way I stopped to get gas and was very careful to ask for $1.00’s worth – as I am hoping the new owner will pick up the car and give me the balance of money today.  He put the gas in and asked for $4.00.  I explained that I had only asked for 1.00 worth and why.  He was very nice – but had to drain the gas out.  It took well over 30 minutes in the heat and naturally was upsetting to all of us.

Finally we were on our way again!  About two miles down the lonely road and bang yes another Flat.  I never should’ve taken the car out when it was sold!  Luckily, I flagged down two young boys on a scooter and once again we waited (picture Mother) while they changed the flat.  I gave them 1.00 for their trouble and we were on our way again.

As we approached the picnic entrances we saw car after car after car (really) of negroes – I never so saw many [sic].  The ones that weren’t negroes were Mexicans.

Mother was starved, my head was splitting (and I feared another flat) and the children were hot, tired and ANGELS.  (They’re the best children any parents have ever had).

I drove to the end of the paved road to the place where I had seen the house ‘for sale’ we had liked.  I remembered a sign “Not paved ahead – enter at your own risk.”

I announced that we would walk aways [sic] and find a pretty, quiet, picnic spot (a place where there would be no intruders) and return for our picnic things.

Well darling, I think if you and I had been together we could have enjoyed ourselves.  But ahead was a dirt road – rocks and very hot (remember I said it was 105), and no trees but I felt if we walked toward the stream we could find a nice spot and leave Mom there to rest while I returned to the car for our things.

We walked and walked.  I carried Sharon and Mom trotted behind.  Of course, she’s always dressed up.  I don’t think she owns low shoes or slacks (or the equivalent).  I told her if she’s to chum with me she better get some sneakers and levis (she looked shocked) and I doubt if she enjoyed herself.

Finally we reached a clump of trees at the stream end.  The stream was dry there and it was NOT pretty.  A few other brave souls were there – most of whom had driven their cars on the road.  (Oh, for a jeep!)

We rested – I said to Mom  that I was sorry and should’ve insisted she stay in the car.

He [sic] exact remarks was as follows.

“Now really would it have made any difference if you had known.”

I told her it would have and it was not necessary for her to be sarcastic and I was only trying to find a place away from the colored for her and I was tired too as I carried Sharon and she better get some levis and low shoes (as I told you).

I left her sitting there and explored further and it got quite pretty – kind of pastureland etc.  We all missed you more than ever and wished for you and wished we were in Alaska – Also, I admit I was kind of scared being so far off the beaten road without you but wouldn’t admit it to Mom.  I promise you though, I won’t do it again.

Also the car sits in the garage now until actually completely sold!  I had to buy another tire – and cursed the luck – but only paid 4.00 this time as to 12.50 before.  Last time I got a new tube.  He couldn’t patch it this time either (except for the tube) as I ran over glass.  What a day!

You can see us trekking back to the car.  We drank all our lemonade then and had our picnic dry.

I drove back to the picnic grounds which were dirty, smelly, full of awful people – we ate (ugh) I cried in my sandwich for you and we came home.

After we arrived home tired and dirty I scrubbed the children, got dinner and shot off our 75 [cents] worth of fireworks (sparklers, one fountain, one torch).

The children were good all day and Mother claimed today she had a good time yesterday. (* _ _ ?)”

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