Election Reaction at the McCadams' House

     My husband and I sat watching the election coverage last night, and although neither of us agree with Barack Obama's economic or foreign affair policies or his stance on social issues, we both realized that it was a momentous night for our country because our first black president had been elected.

     This morning my seven-year-old came in my bedroom and asked with great anticipation who had won the election.  I told him that Obama had won, and he fell prostrate on his face and started crying.  I knew he was pretty wrapped-up in the election, but I was shocked at his reaction.  He sat up, and I sat down next to him.  He said through sobs, "Nobody I ever want to win wins, and I never win anything either!  This is just like the Halloween costume contest!"  Ahhh, here was the true source of all the emotional angst. . . the Halloween costume contest.  He had been Batman and was beaten out my his friend who was a very convincing Hulk.  The real issue here was that my son was just a really sore loser, and Obama happened to be the straw that broke the camel's back.  

     We talked about what it meant to be a good loser.  We talked about how he should be happy for his friend that won the costume contest, and that we would also be happy for Obama.  I told him that God was still in control, and that Obama was a very intelligent man and that we would pray for him when he becomes our president, and that it was going to be okay.  I also told him that it was a big deal that he had won because he will be our first black president.  He looked at me like I had just said the most absurd thing imaginable, and said, "What!?  Just because he's black?  It's just the color of his skin.  What difference does that make!?"  Hmmm.  How to answer that one.  Well, he was totally right, of course.  He was just missing one major component of the equation--American history.  

     I explained to him that when his grandparents were his age, black people had to use separate bathrooms and water fountains, and there were places like restaurants where they weren't allowed to go.  I told him that they hadn't even been allowed to vote for a long time and that white people had treated black people very badly in our country for a really long time.  I assumed he knew about slavery, so I didn't go into that.  In retrospect, I probably should have.  

     I saw my son making the same mistake I see many in my own generation making.  We understand that we're not better than black people because we're white, but we don't understand their story.  

     Neither of my parents experienced segregation.  My mom grew up on a farm in Nebraska, and my dad grew up in rural Texas, and in both these places, my parents grew up never seeing a black person.  When I learned about segregation in school, I asked them questions, amazed that this had happened in their lifetime, but there wasn't much to talk about.  I suspect that white families that did grow up with segregation aren't talking about it much either.  However, all black families, especially those from the South, have a personal history with this issue, and they are passing down their stories to their children.  They remember their history to honor those who fought to give them their God-given rights and to instill gratitude in their children.  Most white Americans, especially those from the South, would just like to forget this chapter in our history.  And in the end, we have two different stories.  For blacks of my generation and the next, the civil rights movement is a history handed down by those who lived it.  For us, it's a story from a dusty book that seems irrelevant to us and our children.

     Then there's another problem.  We don't know each other.  I am so thankful to my few black friends who have been willing to be a part of predominantly white churches, otherwise I would be in the same boat as my parents.  My husband and I lived in a small town in Mississippi for a couple of years before we had kids, and we talked about going to one of the black churches there (because we suspected they were having more fun, and we would like them better than the white churches), but we were never  brave enough to go.  I'm so thankful for the few black women that I know and am able to call my friends.  For me, they put a face on segregation and the civil rights movement.  I hope that as white Americans, especially those of us who are Christians, we will own up to the sins of our fathers and approach the subject of race with much more humility.  

    Last night as I watched Jesse Jackson listen to Obama's acceptance speech, I couldn't help but imagine him on a balcony in Memphis watching Martin Luther King, Jr. die.  Last night a dream was re-born.  No wonder he cried through the whole thing.

    I don't know how much of my talk with Sam really sunk in.  I feel certain we'll be revisiting the issue of loosing graciously.  He disappeared for awhile, then I found him taping this to his bedroom wall.  It seems he felt the need to document the occasion.

     

     Originally he had written "Booo Obama!" which reminded me of the real losers last night--the people in Arizona who were booing Obama as McCain was attempting to make a very gracious concession speech.  I told him to erase it and write "congratulations" instead.  He added, "a little bit."  I told you--we've still got work to do.

     Here's a plug for home-schooling.  Aside from doing formal school work today, Sam and I also worked on character development, social studies, American history, and did an impromptu art project, and I was still in my comfy pants at 10:30 a.m., okay 11:30.