An Education

I am white. My adopted son is black. When I first carried him into the church I was pastoring at the time, a lady looked at him in my arms, gave a twisted smile, and said, “Well hon, just lather him up with sunblock. It’ll keep him from turning into a darky.” Off to Sunday School she marched and I took a chair in the classroom of American race relations.

I have lost count of how many times I talked to a coach about a kid on the team calling my son the N-word; of the hundreds of suspicious sneers aimed at my family; of how many ethnic jokes I’ve had to interrupt; of how often I’ve begged my son to be cautious in volatile situations – including traffic stops – for his own safety; of how many close friends and family I’ve had to confront or simply step away…