Growing Up Black and Segregated |Reblogged

Growing Up Black During the Segregated Era {Interview With My Son’s Grandparents} Part I

For quite some time, I’ve been wanting to write for my son a special post about his African American/Black heritage. Though sadly enough my son’s Black ancestry has a dark history of oppression that needs to be shared from his grandparents own unique perspective.

Growing up did you ever feel there was a disadvantage growing up Black?

Yes, we couldn’t do things that White folks did. Arthur and I were just talking about the Christmas parade when we were growing up. They would take us to see a White Santa riding by, and he was throwing candy at the White kids. He never threw candy at us, we were just there staring. We were just happy to be there.

In the restaurants we couldn’t go in either. We had to go back in the alley,and order from a special window for people of color; and wouldn’t dare to drink water from a White fountain. There was one for the Whites, and another for the colored folks.

Everything was segregated we couldn’t go to the fair, like you take our grandson. They only had one day where Blacks could go. I never went Mama just took one of us, our oldest brother. There was also only one pool for Blacks, there were many pools for Whites. It was far from home, and we had to take the bus to get to the pool.

Speaking of buses. When I was teenager they had these boards on the bus (we called them street cars) that read “color.” They might have been 6 feet long, and you had to walk behind the board all the way to the back and sit. Then in my early 20’s that’s when the Rosa Parks movement started because Rosa didn’t find a seat in the back. At the train station there was also a “Color” side, and a “White” side.

As an adult going to go the theater and watch a movie we had to go upstairs. This also reminds me of something else shopping. Even in the 1950’s when I was working you’d go to these nice department stores you couldn’t try on anything. You have to purchase it, take it home, and then return if it didn’t fit. Don’t dare put anything on your head either

Full article: Discovering The World Through My Son’s Eyes


Author: Angela Grant

I am a first generation Jamaican immigrant whose experiences and accomplishments were made possible by the courage, sacrifices and the heroic acts of many whose bodies have rotted away in unmarked graves. Those are my heroes. Their sacrifices and death paved the way for my children and I. Failure to Listen is a token of my eternal gratitude. Failure to Listen is a tribute those generations of unmarked graves occupied by people of all races whose ultimate sacrifice of life opened the door for me and others, THANK YOU. Failure to Listen uses cultural lenses to appreciate and understand the relationships between current events and our values, beliefs and attitudes. Culture is everything without it we are nothing. Failure to Listen will take you on a journey to recognize the beauty of our differences as the seeds to creativity, innovation and resolving disparities. By sharing my personal and professional experiences, I hope to do justice to the perspectives of those who are rarely heard or listened to. This site is not to incite anger but rather to provoke thought. It is my hope that Failure to Listen will work to foster intergroup dialogues and motivate readers to step outside the box and get to know ALL PEOPLE. In the spirit of Martin Luther King, let's join hands and remember his famous speech about a dream... A small group of thoughtful people could change the world. Indeed, it's the only thing that ever has. -Margaret Mead

Let your voice be heard, contribute to this discussion. What is your opinion?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s