On This MLK Weekend, a True Story From the Family Files...

When my parents completed their residency training in this country, they looked around the country for a place that would be ideal to practice medicine yet also be conducive to raising children and having some sort of quality of life. The coastal areas were very attractive to them, yet they did not want to settle in a place that had severe winters. After a personal visit from the administrator of a small Virginia hospital, they settled in southeast Virginia, in the Hampton Roads area. At the time, the Artful Brother started attending school in one town before having to switch to another school prior to his 3rd grade year. The school that the Brother was to attend was founded during the 60s in an effort to avoid desegregation efforts by Congress and the Supreme Court. The Artful Brother was a typical 8 year old, a hell raiser who looked the role of the innocent, but in school, he always behaved and was a great student.

On that first day of school, he went out on the playground during recess with his new classmates and was running happily on the peanut shell-based surface (safety, don't you know). It was a crisp fall day, and he was just learning that maybe he could fit in among all of these Southern Virginians. He was unfazed by the lack of...color ...in the classroom save for himself. Because this had often been the case thus far in his childhood to date, he never gave it a second thought.

Lost in his reverie, he did not notice the trio of bullies that was watching him. Now don't worry, he was not physically attacked or humiliated. That would be a difficult story. No, what happened instead could have had more serious consequences had it occurred to anyone with less fortitude than the Artful Brother.

Artful Brother to the bullies: " Hi, my name is _____. What are your names?"

Bully (silent, then): "What are you doing here?"

Brother: "I just started school here. It's really nice. Is this your first day here too?"

Bully: "No, but we BELONG here. You don't."

Brother: "Huh?"

Bully: "Our school doesn't allow niggers."

Pause for a second, and focus on the various layers of ignorance that underlie that statement.

Artful Brother: "What's a nigger?"

Just then, the bell rang and the face off ended, with the Artful Brother never getting the answer to his question. The need for an answer dogged him, however, for to this day, the Artful Brother is a learning sponge who always wants to learn new things. The Artful Brother made his way home and was sitting down to dinner with the Artful Mom (the Artful Dad was at the hospital).

Artful Mom: "How was school today, honey?"

Artful Brother: "It was OK-the teacher is really nice and so are most of the kids."

Artful Mom (relieved): "Oh that's good!"

Artful Brother: "Mom...what's a nigger?"

Artful Mom (her heart sinking): "It is a name that people without education call people who are different from them (note how Mom put a generality into the target group being denigrated-in her teaching, any racial slurs attack all races equally). Why do you ask?"

Artful Brother (thinking): "Oh no reason. This guy named Bully called me that today, and I did not know why."

Artful Mom (hiding her sadness and her desire to cry for her boy): "Just ignore him, sweetie. He doesn't know what he is saying because he is just a small boy like you. Stay away from him, though, until he learns that what he said was wrong."

Artful Brother: "OK, Mom."

What a horrible experience for the Artful Brother-face to face with the most abhorrent racism on his first day of school. By itself, this would be a sad story, but there is a coda to it, one that would only occur 9 years later.

It is now Senior Year for the Artful Brother. He has excelled in academics throughout his entire career and he is getting ready to graduate and go on to a great college. He has so many friends in the school and the small Southern town where the Artful Parents settled. He has also achieved the singular honor of being the school's valedictorian (having also been voted Most Likely to Succeed). He is the first minority to be the school valedictorian, and he is honored and humbled. He gives an amazing speech on friendship and the importance of friends in ones life. In the crowd, the Artful Parents and I watched proudly, and I saw tears in Mom's eyes that seemed a bit bittersweet. I asked her, "Mom, are you happy?" She answered, "I could not be happier...but there is more. I will tell you later."

All of my brother's graduating class surrounded him and congratulated him after the ceremony, but Bully was missing. Of course, one would assume that Bully was still a bitter little boy blinded by racism, but there was another reason for his absence. Bully never made the grades that allowed him to graduate, and he flunked during the school year twice (making up the grades over the summer). Bully was allowed to graduate in summer school, far from the cheers and accolades that met the boy (now man) who he had mercilessly teased as a child. The Artful Brother, to this day, has never mentioned this story and has carried himself with the utmost pride.

After the ceremony, I asked Mom why she was crying.

She composed herself, then began: "When your father and I completed our residency training in this country . . . "