It is at this time each year that we take a moment to recognize the efforts of the Reverend Dr. King. I will be honest and say that even as an African American, for most of my life this has looked like nothing more than a nod upward and maybe a quick, “Thanks for all you have done.”
I have always heard snippets of history acknowledging how my very own life would not be the same if it were not for this man. We learn about him in school, we hear about his life through various television programs, and these days around this time of year, our Twitter and Facebook feeds are filled by his words of inspiration. If you know no other part parts of the famous “I have a dream…” speech, you will surely see enough of it within the next few days to have it fully memorized by this time next week.
And I think that is great. I would be far more disappointed in our culture if we did nothing to honor this great man who paved a path which has literally changed the future our of nation. Many might argue that with recent events things have not changed quite enough, but I’m not here to get into that. I’m just here to share my own story. This is my blog after all, so if you would, please give me a moment to share what life as an African American, female, millennial has been like for me, and how Dr. King’s dream has inspired my upbringing.
I was born in Rockford, Illinois, in 1988. My parents are both from the south, and well over half of my extended family live in various southern states today. But I spent most of my life in Winnebago, IL, a tiny farm town that’s just about as hick as it sounds. And I LOVED it. Pretty much every second of it. Growing up, I was popular because I was a “nice girl,” so I fit in. I flourished in my high school years. I was one of the top students in band and choir, I participated in theatre and was a member of the poms squad. I loved dancing on that fifty yard line, and singing the big solo in the spring musical, and being voted class president and crowned prom queen even when my dad didn’t think I had much of a chance. Honestly, high school was kind of a breeze for me, especially when I hear the horror stories of so many others. But there were plenty of moments within those years that were not so fun and easy.
Rockford is a fairly diverse city concerning black and white, although there are not too many races outside of those. I think it is still safe to say that I was raised within a balance of multiple cultures. I attended church in Rockford where a vast majority of the congregation was black, and since the age of 10, I attended schools in Winnebago where a vast majority of the students were white. Before that I was in private schools in Rockford which were also predominately white. My first two best friends were an Italian boy and a beautiful, Columbian girl. I knew them well and spent time in their homes and with their families. So there were a variety of cultures that played into my upbringing. And I think that is why it hurt so much whenever I was branded as this singular thing, or put into a certain category solely because of my skin tone.
Now I will warn you and say that I am going to be VERY general when listing these next groups, so please understand that most do not fit in this category, but just enough to warrant my telling of these stories. The brand or category would vary depending on who I was amongst. There were times when I was amongst kids my age who were raised in Rockford public schools, which can be very different than Rockford private schools or the schools of surrounding smaller towns, such as Winnebago. To many of them I was the “Oreo.” In case you don’t know what that means, it’s basically someone who is seen as black on the outside but white on the inside dependent upon the way they speak, dress, and those with whom they chose interact. To some of my male classmates I was the “undate-able one,” because who would risk the whispers within a small community like ours that followed that one? A white boy dating a black girl? This actually happened once when my best guy friend in high school dated the sister of one of his best friends who happened to be black. Just as their parents had warned them, the amount of attention their relationship gained was a little bit sickening considering the decade we were living in. But they handled it like champs. If only our community would have done the same.
I like to think the older we get the more we progress in our thinking. Just a few months ago I was back home for my twin brother’s wedding. We were sitting around the table at their rehearsal dinner when one of my high school friends who was a groomsmen leaned over and said, “I hope you don’t take any offense to what I'm about to say, but I couldn’t help but notice that all of your siblings are dating white people. I think that’s just incredible!” And honestly, I was not offended at all. I have always felt that since we grew up in majority white settings concerning our schooling which is where we spent the majority of our time, we would each probably end up paired off with someone of another race. Not a definite, but it was definitely probable in my eyes, being raised in a town like Winnebago. In fact I told my dad this when I was about 16 years old and I remember him just rolling his eyes.
I mentioned before that my dad was the one who didn’t believe I would be crowned prom queen, even after I had made the court, and even after multiple parents of my classmates had pulled him aside to say words along the lines of, “You think she’s got a shot at this thing? I think she’s going to win it for sure!” The look of sheer awe on his face when I walked up to him proudly wearing that crown was priceless. And I truly believe he never thought I had a shot. Simply because of the town in which he and my mom had chosen to raise us. Because anyone who was raised in a town with those statistics in his hay day simply would not have good a chance.
After that, it probably wasn’t too much of a shock when every boyfriend and girlfriend brought through our front doors was of a different race than us. My twin brother is newly and happily married to a girl of Irish descent. My older brother is dating a white girl from here in the Midwest, and my older sister is dating a white guy from Poland. As for now, I am actually the only one who hasn’t brought anyone around for my parents to meet, but the last guy I was seeing was a white guy from France, so clearly we are all about diversity in the Dingle family!
But on a serious note, I think about each of our lives and our relationships and how they have played out. How my first school friends were a cute little Italian boy and a sweet little Columbian girl. Or how my first in-law is this smart and beautiful women from an Irish family that is so full of life and love. Her family is now part of my own family, and 100 years ago that never would have been allowable without facing persecution. I think about that and I understand why so many feel the need to, if nothing else, post the words of Dr. King’s, “I have a dream,” speech. How can you not feel compelled to give a nod to the man who paved the path that has set so many of our futures in place? And yes, we still have quite a way to go. There are many conversations to be had, and many hearts that need to be changed on all sides of the issue. But we must all pause to pay respect to the man who first opened this door and ultimately sacrificed his own life so that we would have a place to start on the remainder of the hard work.
So thank you, Dr. King. And may your efforts always be acknowledged, both on this day and every day.
