virginia

My mother grew up in Virginia as the Civil Rights movement was building momentum. There was a time when the Commonwealth (no, Virginia is not a state, although I honestly couldn't tell you what that means) talked of closing down the schools to avoid integrating them. 

Full disclosure: my mother is white. For her, this would have meant "separate but equal", with 'separate' meaning only white classmates and white teachers, and 'equal' meaning all kids got to attend public school, but her access to smaller class sizes, appropriate materials, etc. would have honestly been better than would be provided to a black student of the same age. Considering funding was permitted to be unequal, this would be a natural consequence.

To her family's credit, this was never an okay thing. I remember her talking about this, but I've never asked for details. I should do that. All I can guess is that my grandfather, who had grown up poor, was sympathetic. 

He ended up as a journalist and that put him in contact with members of Congress (back when talking to journalists was still acceptable). Another piece of the puzzle that I have is that, when the Civil Rights Act was being passed in 1964, he had managed to get her a pass to sit in the gallery at the Capitol through his contacts. Since she grew up in Northern Virginia, it was an easy trip into D.C. It made an impression on her --she talked about it years later. He wanted her to see it for a reason.

I also grew up in Virginia, not far from where my mother grew up. When I was growing up, schools were integrated, and there was no talk of closing them down. Thinking back to early childhood, I had friends who were white, black, Salvadoran, Lebanese, Taiwanese, ... . We were a mix, and we were all in there together. My very favorite teacher --fifth grade --was a very large black man who had played football as a defensive tackle, but he was not at all scary. He was as a nice a teacher as you could have, and I learned a lot in his class. It was a very different time and situation from when my mother was growing up.

At the same time, there was a local geographical location in our area where the poor black families lived. They had lived there for generations. It was known locally and on maps as "N***** Mountain" (I don't like the word, so I've left some letters out, but we all know that word). Naturally, it was at the bottom of the 'mountain', which was actually a big hill. Subdivisions were starting to be built (it was the 1980s), and yet, we were still calling the area where these people lived by that name, and progress was crisply stepping over the area where they called home. Driving by, I could notice, even at that age, that their houses were not built as sturdily as the one I lived in. I'm sure I must have gone to school with kids who lived there, but I never knew it.

Clearly, Virginia had changed, but some things had not changed.

Now, I work in schools in another state (a state, not a commonwealth, but I couldn't tell you what that means ...). I have visited families in their homes which remind me of the ones I drove by thirty years ago. The climate and geography are different, but the holes where there should be windows are the same. There are still families living at the bottom of that mountain, and they are doing what they can. We all are. But we still have further to go. 

It's been a long way from Virginia to here, but we still have a ways to go.