I Was a Pre-School Racist
In Sunday School, all the kids would get together and sing songs to start, and then we would break up into separate classes based on our age group. I used to love singing Father Abraham, probably because I got to punch and kick the person beside me (usually a boy, often Optimus Prime) and blame it on the actions of the song.
There were a few times when I was late (due to running the halls of the Church no doubt) and I would have to sit up front, beside almost nobody.
And near the only two black kids in Sunday School.
They were sisters, and had a lighter complexion, close to that of molasses cookies. So, for some reason, I decided they smelled like molasses cookies, and when I did have to sit near them, I held my nose.
I don’t remember my parents having a chat with me about that, probably because I never told them. Somehow I grew out of it, without somebody explaining it was wrong.
The only connection I can think of was, years later, when there were many more people of African decent at the church, and my Grandmother was complaining about the perfume a particular Lady was wearing. She said black people wear it to cover up their smell. Apparently, my Grandmother thinks Black people have a smell.
Now, I do know that many of the recent African immigrants in the church came from a place where deodorant really isn’t an issue. As a result, many of those who have recently arrived, or refuse to conform, have strong BO. They see no problem with body odor. To them it is natural, healthy, and not unappealing, but often arousing.
(I think this because a friend who moved here from South Africa frequently ranted about how North Americans try to hide behind deodorant and perfume instead of letting their real smell loose).
But this wasn’t the phenomena my Grandmother was referring to. She just thought the smell had something to do with the colour of skin, not different cultural practices.
I ran into these sisters years later. At least, I think it was them. I worked with both of them on separate occasions.
I wonder if my early racism had any effect on them. If it was just a drop in the bucket, or if they even noticed. I wasn’t self aware enough to notice their reactions, and it was so long ago I wouldn’t be able to remember if I did.
I don’t think I will ask though. Some things are better left in the closet.
There were a few times when I was late (due to running the halls of the Church no doubt) and I would have to sit up front, beside almost nobody.
And near the only two black kids in Sunday School.
They were sisters, and had a lighter complexion, close to that of molasses cookies. So, for some reason, I decided they smelled like molasses cookies, and when I did have to sit near them, I held my nose.
I don’t remember my parents having a chat with me about that, probably because I never told them. Somehow I grew out of it, without somebody explaining it was wrong.
The only connection I can think of was, years later, when there were many more people of African decent at the church, and my Grandmother was complaining about the perfume a particular Lady was wearing. She said black people wear it to cover up their smell. Apparently, my Grandmother thinks Black people have a smell.
Now, I do know that many of the recent African immigrants in the church came from a place where deodorant really isn’t an issue. As a result, many of those who have recently arrived, or refuse to conform, have strong BO. They see no problem with body odor. To them it is natural, healthy, and not unappealing, but often arousing.
(I think this because a friend who moved here from South Africa frequently ranted about how North Americans try to hide behind deodorant and perfume instead of letting their real smell loose).
But this wasn’t the phenomena my Grandmother was referring to. She just thought the smell had something to do with the colour of skin, not different cultural practices.
I ran into these sisters years later. At least, I think it was them. I worked with both of them on separate occasions.
I wonder if my early racism had any effect on them. If it was just a drop in the bucket, or if they even noticed. I wasn’t self aware enough to notice their reactions, and it was so long ago I wouldn’t be able to remember if I did.
I don’t think I will ask though. Some things are better left in the closet.
posted by deadwriter at 5:07 p.m.
2 Comments:
I was 26 when I was married. I am about to turn 29. I am only separated, not divorced. There has to be one year of separation before an uncontested divorce goes through. That saves on legal costs, and since neither of us have any money, things, or children, that's the best way to do it. The year will be up this coming August.
I'm glad you are enjoying the blog. Feel free to ask any questions or add any comments.
deadwriter
By the way it wasn't some woman, it was Don Berry that brought that comment on, but still funny
nonetheless
very enjoyable read, will be back.
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