Out of the Mouths of Babes
Most say that the hardest part of parenting is watching your kids grow up. I disagree. As they age, kids get more exciting. And parents get to sleep more, too.
No, the hardest thing about parenting is watching your kids speak their minds. When they open their hearts, open their mouths, and let the world have it. There’s not a damned thing you can do about it.
Erin was the Valedictorian of her graduating class. You may have heard that, I’ve certainly bragged on her enough! My little girl has had her mind set on graduating at the top since the age of three. Sure was about the award, the competition and being the best but what Erin most looked forward to was the speech-her chance to address the community.
By the time she graduated, Erin had spoken publicly several times, addressing different clubs and organizations. She has addressed the school board on a few occasions, sharing her ideas and suggestions, but the Valedictorian speech was especially important. It would be the first time she spoke as an adult.
Erin didn’t want to waste her chance by just cracking jokes or empty minded cheers. She wanted to talk about something meaningful, something close to her heart. She wanted her speech to mirror her thoughts and challenge those around her to change the world.
Originally, she leaned towards an environmental message or a message of compassion and inspiration. But as she has matured, her focus has shifted to community health and human rights-to the point where she is dedicating her life to the cause. Now at the start of her journey, it was time to invite her classmates to come along.
While looking for inspiration, Erin came upon a reference in an obscure textbook from a university hours away. It mentioned that in the 1920’s, Wark Park (not the town’s real name but inquiring minds can learn it with a few minutes of fact checking on Google) was the home of one of the largest KKK chapters in the state of Kansas-with numbers rivaling Wichita. In 1922, the town hosted one of the largest KKK parades in the state’s history.
Erin was stunned. How could this be? She had volunteered for both the library and the city museum and neither had any mention of it. In her eighteen years, Wark Park was only a place one drove through to get to someplace else.
She reached out to a media buddy of mine who verified everything she had read was true. Erin was crushed. How could she stand there and represent the best of a community with such a history of hate? Come to think of it, how much progress had the Wark Park made since? People of color still didn’t feel comfortable settling in town, minorities representing only a small fraction of the population. Comparing current educational and criminal statistics suggested the town continued to be a hold out in the equality struggle well after the Klan disbanded. Even today, more children of color are disadvantaged over their white counterparts, and yet this fact is largely ignored.
Finding her inspiration, Erin carefully crafted her speech and rehearsed it repeatedly in her bedroom, the car and the shower. She gathered her data, anticipating someone would want to see her research. And when the time came, she was ready.
Me, not so much. With clenched hands and a nervous stomach, I watched my baby girl rise to her feet and approach the podium with the confidence and control of a seasoned leader. I was not nearly that calm. Although I knew the topic, she had never shared her final product. A knot rose in my throat and I cast my gaze around the crowd. No one brought any pitch forks or flaming torches. I didn’t notice any baskets of rotting produce either. Dave smiled and took my hand. I hope it wasn’t too sweaty.
Erin smiled as she approached the podium and addressed the attendees like she was presenting at a conference. The results were…memorable.
The audience obliged when she asked for applause for those instrumental in helping the class attain graduation. They were polite as she said how delighted she was to stand before them, and even chuckled when she mentioned her speech would be slightly longer than the Salutatorian’s. She declared her school was a special place, showering it with accolades of which nearly every attendee agreed, and added how it was a privilege to be educated there.
Then she delved into what that privilege meant.
Immediately, the crowd overwhelmingly composed of white people fidgeted in their seats like a gigantic swarm of invisible mosquitos suddenly flew overhead. Some people covered their faces with their hands, as if it were somehow possible to deflect her words from approaching their ears. While I didn’t see anyone looking for the exit, several looked down into their laps, hurriedly trying to compose their poker faces.
Some were only able to remain stoic for a few minutes. An older gentleman seated in front of me began to grumble as Erin related school disciplinary statistics taken from our local area. He found his composure again when the child seated next to him pointed out my location.
That’s right, hide you jerk! You know I saw you!
Bud just shook his head and exaggeratedly laughed as if she were speaking about erectile dysfunction. An enthusiastic conservative, Bud is uncomfortable with anything that may have the slightest hue of entitlement. While he has no problem defending equality for people he knows that happen to be a minority, judging by his social media posts those sentiments do not extend to the general population. His fiancé nudged him with her elbow and told him to zip it.
Erin had sufficiently worked over her audience when she revealed Wark Park’s KKK history. The crowd was in shock. I almost smiled at the thought of all the attendees who remained romantically sentimental to their southern roots, yet denied the racism their heritage advanced. She boldly pulled away that illusion like a band aid. You could practically see them wince with the sting.
Many in the crowd were too busy dealing with their own reactions to see those of the non-white audience. Imagine expecting to attend a harmless graduation and suddenly being dropped into a sermon amidst a group of white people struggling with their entitlement. They sat there quietly, listening to what was said. Erin’s commanding stage presence aside, none of them took their eyes off her, almost fearful to catch the gaze of a stranger. It was a well-learned response. The people I was observing had lived the way Erin described for so long, they actually adapted neutral expressions to handle it. Show no agreement, show no reaction at all, avoid any eye contact, keep focusing on the speaker-and protect yourself.
Nope, no racism here, guys!
Having reached the point of no return, she posed a question. What did it have to do with her classmates, she asked? Everything.
She told them now was not the time to be complacent, it was a time for action. She challenged her peers to think about what she said, learn from their experience, and reflect on their gifts. She asked them to use their education and degree they were privileged to receive and make a difference.
She seemed satisfied as she left the stands to polarized applause, with some appreciating her talk and other appreciative that she had stopped talking. The faculty picked up where Erin left off and the rest of the ceremony proceeded without a hitch. Less than an hour later, we had a high school graduate with a city-wide anxiety attack under the belt.
To my relief, the reaction for Erin’s address was very positive. Her phone blew up with texts of accolades and congratulations while we were at dinner to celebrate. People from so many parts of her life said she how proud they were of her bravery. A leading educator close to us said he planned to refer to her address as he worked on the issues Erin so eloquently discussed. Her new classmates at university used it as a launching board to discuss a whole range of topics from service delivery to housing, environment and community health. It was encouraging to see more of her peers use the platform influence their future careers.
Naturally, she didn’t win over everyone. A few classmates had their noses bent out of joint. Being adults now, they were ready to have a constructive, mature conversation. Or maybe not.
They created a Facebook post and griped privately.
Erin managed to hack off a couple KKK descendants, a former foster kid with mental problems and a handful of kids with Attention Deficit Disorder. The legacies didn’t like how Erin depicted the town’s founders, the foster kid made a confusing complaint about acne medication and parenting before she offered to meet someone outside Walmart for a fight and the ADD kids mistakenly thought Erin called them racist. Either lacking the ability or unwilling to comprehend the meaning of her talk, they made up their own outrage, adding remarks one would find scrawled on a bathroom stall.
They were so sympathetic to KKK members operating in town ninety-eight years ago, that they saw Erin’s address as a personal attack. It wasn’t the facts they objected to or even the history behind it, it was the idea that they had to hear about it. One kid believed himself so entitled that he tried to belittle her for talking about such an unpleasant subject at all. I question whether he heard most of it. The next thing he remarked upon was that he could see her nipples through her graduation gown, honors sash and Valedictorian medallion.
Erin took it in stride. She expected some blowback. But what she really wanted was to start a conversation and to that end she achieved her goal and then some.
Erin started playing make believe games as a toddler. She would climb on her blanket chest, in nothing but a diaper, and address the masses of stuffed animals she would carefully arrange into an audience. Her first word was “Attention”. Stretching out her arm and pointer-finger before them, she would pretend to quiet the crowd before babbling a crucially important message. I used to call it her Emperor Game.
Watching Erin begin a new chapter of her life, I realize that her Emperor Game was only a preview. There will be much more to watch as the years go on and she takes to the podium once again. Every day, she learns and grows from her experiences and no doubt she will continue to make her voice heard. And to that end, I am prepared.
I’ve stocked up on plenty of antacids.
My name is Jennifer Beck and I’m Jenuinely Jennifer.
Writer, Researcher and heartburn patient!
