Josh Magill shares the important lesson he learned from his father many years ago.
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Ten years ago, I read the essay “Just Walk on By: Black Men and Public Space” by Brent Staples and it led me to a place most white people have never been — the day-to-day thoughts and fears of a black man. I read this piece with a bit of pain, not because I could understand Staples’ feelings, rather I knew that I had done some of the narrow-minded things he spoke of concerning white folks.
I’ve reached back to check for my wallet or kept my head down when passing a group of intimidating black men. Staples shares how it feels to be on the other side of the fence, what it’s like to be feared, yet, for no good reason at all but your looks. I enjoyed the fact that he tells the reader the simple truth. I thought about my youth, growing up in a rural north Georgia town; I wasn’t scared then. The big cities, Atlanta, Dallas, and Denver had changed me somewhat — gangs thrived amongst the neon lights and towering buildings, I told myself. Chicago was Staples’ big city, yet he found a respect —even if only for personal safety reasons, and despite his rage about the situation —for the fear others had of him.
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My life hasn’t been marked with such an “altering of public space” like Staples experienced, rather a stealthy way of sneaking in and out of the public view. I seem to have been blessed with the ability, if you will, to hover just below the radar. Maybe that is my gift — not affecting public space, or maybe I’ve just never truly thought about how my presence influences those people around me. Well, take my oldest son for example. At five months old — the age he was when I read the essay — his life involved his mother, baby formula, diapers, and me. That’s basically it. When I entered the room his face lit up and he smiled the biggest toothless smile you have ever seen. That isn’t really public space, but it’s an effect on a specific person that only I can stimulate.
Okay, so I might have an effect on the area around me, but it’s not something white people readily think about. We — white folks — don’t often sit and ponder how our existence, or even the lack thereof, changes, frightens, or excites strangers. More often, we think about how we are positively or negatively affected by those around us.
There are, however, those that have a way about them, which can disturb others. Let me tell you about my dad; he alters public space easily. At six-foot-five-inches tall, my father is quickly noticed and drips with intimidation. His hard, wrinkle-worn face tells of long days stressing over life. He often carries a gun due to his job in law enforcement, which puts people on edge. My dad is also very forward and out-going, bringing him one step closer to people who already feel nervous because of his size. To know my dad is to know one of the nicest people in the world, but his image forces on others feelings of inadequacy, vulnerability, and even anxiety.
My time in my father’s house was stained with countless moments of instant fear and learning, but none more humbling than staring him in the eye, at five years of age, while being lectured.
I’d done something wrong — exactly what escapes me to this day — so I was about to get my punishment, but had to endure one of those long lectures that should be punishment enough first. I grew more frustrated by the minute, standing at attention across the coffee table from this giant of a man. I felt ready to burst; right then I hated him. I begged God to stop him before I cracked, but that was not to be as I clinched my eyes shut and screamed — with as much disrespect as I could muster — ‘SHUT-UP’ at the top of my lungs. My father, being a large man, has massive hands — callused fingers and knuckles that had to work for everything, that never gave into life, but sometimes got the butt-end of the stick — and one of them swatted me mid-scream. My eyes never opened as I flew across the room, landing next to the television.
I thought: Wow! That hurt!
My father gained my respect many times over the years as he taught me the rules of life, but on that day, as he picked me up, placed me back in front of him and continued his lecture, my father became a threatening — and respected — figure to me. I knew that he would never take any crap from me (or anyone else), but that he would always be there to pick me up when I needed a helping hand, some guidance, or just a kind nudge.
I sincerely love my Dad, but I knew then that he would always be bigger than me, and that knowledge kept me in line with the rules of his house. Today, my father is sixty-plus-years-old — the best and hardest working man I have ever known — but I still find him to be a very intimidating and public space altering figure, yet I have learned he is such in a positive way. He was there when my marriage was struggling and his advice helped me face my differences with my wife, work them out, and once again find a happy family life. He is always there in my mind backing me up with his prodding that I can do just a little better at anything I try, that I never settle for second-best.
How we see others matters.
Sure, it is smart to be cautious, but avoiding someone different than ourselves because they are a different color, have different religious beliefs or sexual preference is much more than cautiousness. It’s premeditated judgment. It’s premeditated fear.
How we see others is up to us. We just have to give people a chance.
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Photo credit: Ross Pollack/flickr