The Secret of Color
Without risk we achieve nothing. I wouldn’t respect that in myself.
We all know racism is alive and kicking today in spite of laws to even out the playing field. Since the civil rights movement, we have made progress. Eight people of color were CEOs of Fortune 500 companies in 2011 whereas in 1970 it was zero. (This number has dropped recently, according to The Atlantic, October 2017.) Neighborhoods that were once very divided are seeing more diversity. Interracial marriage and dating were illegal until 1967 but are common today. In spite of currents of hatred I see too frequently running through this country, I have seen changes in my lifetime.
It was 1981. I didn’t really date in high school. I was introverted and fearful of most people. I lived in an abusive family and preferred being at school to being at home. Our gym teacher, Mr. Wirtz, could see I needed help, though I doubt he really understood how much and what kind of help. But he offered what he could. In the hallway one day he asked me if I was involved in any extracurricular activities. I wasn’t. He told me he needed a manager for the boys’ track team and wanted me to do it. I went cold with anxiety but knew I couldn’t say no.
At the first practice, he introduced me to the team as the manager and told the boys they would be reporting their stats to me. My throat clenched and I thought I might vomit. They would be reporting to ME. They would have to talk to me, and I to them. I had imagined I would merely carry equipment and remain invisible.
After a couple of weeks, I had learned my job and was a bit more comfortable with it. I had begun to notice that some of the boys seemed just as reluctant to speak to me. They barely spoke above a whisper, looked at the ground when reporting or stumbled over their words.
I was short; maybe 4' 10 in tenth grade. In the seventh grade, Randy Newman came out with his song, “Short People”. Kids would sometimes sing it AT us as an insult. I was appropriately angry and humiliated. I had already heard all the words thrown at me over the years: munchkin, peewee, short-stuff, runt, midget, pissant. Yes, kids are cruel. Randy Newman, however, nearly destroyed me socially at the threshold of puberty.
