I grew up in a small town where there are few, if any, black people. Prejudice was very alive when I was young. You will still hear the term colored used. Many people say, oh, I have many colored friends. Girls got called mudsharks if they slept with black guys. The Klan would meet, up until a few years ago, right down the street from where I am writing this.
Cabbage Patch Kids were all the rage. We couldn't find any, anywhere, until a shipment came in at the Montgomery Ward. The only problem, the lady told my mother, was that they were two black ones. We didn't care, we just wanted a Cabbage Patch Kid. I saw no color as a child, only a fad that I must be a part of.
Everywhere my brother and I went, we carried our black babies along. Until one day, I was at my grandparent's and one of their friends said, "Why are your grandchildren playing with nigger Cabbage Patch Kids?" I defended my non-living, stuffed, plastic headed black adopted child's civil rights. I got mad and spoke up.
Therefore, that is my moment in black history. Defending a toy versus someone who grew up racist. I wish it was something more profound, like helping a slave in the Underground Railroad or giving my seat up on a bus. However, this was my chance. And now, you have read my story.
Photo - S
Words - S
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