Billy Joe was a very happy nine-year-old. The usual ride home from school was a steady stream of recess happenings and Third Grade gossip. But today, his mom could tell that he was upset. His eyes were red, and he was very quiet, a sure sign that something was wrong.
“Are you ok?” his mom asked. “Yea,” replied Billy Joe. But his mom knew he was covering up what was running around inside his head and heart. The rest of the ride was in silence.
When they got home, his mom poured a glass of milk and got three cookies out of the jar and sat down with Billy Joe just to listen. It took him a while, but the first cookie did the trick. Once he started talking. He couldn’t stop, and he kept getting louder and louder. It was like a steam kettle coming to a boil.
“Mama did our family have slaves?” he asked.
“I don’t know; we could have. My great-great-granddad had a big farm in Alabama. Why are you asking?”
“Today was Martin Luther King Day, and our teacher told us about him. One of the boys in the back yelled out that his family were slaves a long time ago, and so our teacher told us about what life was like for them. It was pretty bad, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it must have been!” Mom agreed.
Billy Joe went on, “Another boy said that all of us white guys probably owned slaves like him. We all got mad, and it ruined the whole day.”
Mom asked, “How did you feel when he said that?”
“At first, I was mad because I never owned any slaves. Then I got tangled up inside because I couldn’t do anything if they did. It was a long time ago.”
“Did you feel like you had done something wrong?” she asked. “Yea, but that’s crazy. I wasn’t even alive!”
That thought hovered over the last cookie for a minute or two before Billy Joe asked, “Should I be ashamed of my family? I don’t want to be.”
This big old ugly question demanded the last cookie, and Billy Joe picked it up and started nibbling on it.
Mom then put her arm around him and said, “Family is Family. We gotta love ‘em, but we can’t always like them. We all do bad stuff, and we need to apologize and be forgiven when we do. If you did something terrible, you would have to apologize and take your punishment, knowing that you would be forgiven. But it is not that easy with our family that lived a long time ago. They can’t apologize, even if they wanted to. But we can still forgive them. We can’t punish them, but we can learn from their mistakes and do our best to be better people.”
“What do you mean?” Billy Joe asked.
Mom said, “We need to be patient with those who came before us, those who walk with us, and those who will follow us. We can only learn from our family that came before. We can see and understand their bad choices and then promise not to make the same mistakes.”
“I am never going to have a slave, Mama?” Billy Joe protested.
“That’s true. But you may have people that work for you. You will need to pay them enough to care for their families and not treat them like you own them. Instead, you will need to let them make their own decisions about their lives and not be ‘the boss of them.’” You will also need to remember that many black and Hispanic folks do not have your advantages. And so, when you have the opportunity, you need to treat them with the same respect that you expect from others and even get out of their way to make their lives a little easier.”
“You mean like not calling them names and not chasing them away when they want to sit or play with us?” he asked.
“Exactly!” Mom said with more than a bit of pride in her son. “It might mean listening to them as they talk about their families and getting to know them by their name, not the color of their skin.”
“Ok, Mom, you lost me on that one,” he replied.
“That’s ok! That will have to wait for another cookie. Just be patient with our family and the kids in your class for now. Enjoy getting to know them! Listen when they want to talk. But most of all, just be their friend.”
After a good old mama hug, Billy Joe said, “Thanks, Mom, I like it when I bring the questions, and you bring the cookies.” To which Mom replied, “I don’t know. Next time, if I have questions, will you bring the cookies?”
“Sure, Mama, but you are going to need to teach me how to make ‘em.”
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