TUPATALK: Grateful salute

Black History Month has only a few days remaining.

I haven’t focused on it because I didn’t know if any of my comments would add any value to the things already said and done.

I grew up as a child in the 1960s, mostly in California. We moved around so much, the center of my existence was always family.

Most kids growing up back then extended their childhood universe to the their neighborhood and the people that populated it, and to the school house and church building and places around town.

Symbolically, I observed the world mainly from standing inside our front room door, what was on television and in songs and that which our mom and dad — especially our mom — taught us.

I don’t recall discussions about race and related issues. The whole topic just wasn’t high on my list of curiosity.

To me, people were people, which is about as deeply as I saw human relations.

But, the subject still touched our home.

One day, when my sister was in kindergarten, my mom stopped by the school to walk her home. When she got to the school grounds, she saw a crowd of students gathered in a circle and heard them screaming.

When she walked closer to the scene of the controversy, she noticed my sister standing in the middle, next to a little black girl classmate.

Some girls had started picking on my sister’s classmate and my sister screamed back at them to stop.

She had developed an innate sense of fairness that would last her full life.

Ironically, however, she was also subject to the whims and influences of children around her. A few years later, while she still attended elementary, she came home and — wanting to seem older than she was, I suppose — used the ’N’ word in front of my dad.

He slapped her on the lips. As far as I know, that’s the only physical punishment he ever took against me or her.

But, that incident itself had a fascinating twist. My dad grew up in south central Texas, at a time when voluntary segregation was the rule. His attitude had been the blacks and whites stayed on their own sides.

And, with his twangy Texas accent — although he spoke very well — I remember more than once him using the ’N’ word when discussing some topics.

As I think back now to the experience with my sister, I realize he knew that word was inappropriate but acceptable for him — but that when he heard one of his children say it, it was unacceptable.

I don’t want to leave an incorrect assumption, however. What daddy said sometimes — and he never exhibited racial tirades or hateful attitudes — and his real, evolving character respected all people for who they were and not what they were.

He would later earn a high position at a company, in which he was in charge of hiring many people, and race or ethnicity were never an issue.

But, as I said, these weren’t things we discussed at home during my childhood years. I don’t remember encountering a lot of black kids, but then I didn’t encounter many kids at all. After school, I went straight home, listened to records, read my comic books, played with the small group of kids in our apartment complex or neighborhoods and did homework.

Our mom had the biggest impact on us in our relationships to those in our satellite of acquaintances on a daily or regular basis.

I don’t recall her lecturing about these things. Through her example and philosophy we knew it was expected of us to respect and accept all people. We knew judgement had to be based on the heart of another.

And, she set the example. From the time I was an older boy, she spoke about Jesse Owens, Jackie Robinson, Roberto Clemente, Willie Mays and Willie Stargell as heroes, in the same vein as Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Joe DiMaggio, Jack Dempsey and more.

I recognize the tremendous blessings many black people have contributed to our nation and the world. I salute the Tuskegee Airmen as well as the hundreds of thousands of other black soldiers who have risked their lives to protect and cherish ideals that some of their ancestors were denied. I’m grateful for a black mess sergeant at the Marine Corps base in Yuma, Ariz., who required grueling work of his mess crew but also respected hard work. His word of praise brought more satisfaction than a first-place trophy. I’m grateful for the tremendous blessings people of color have been responsible for in inventions, leadership, education, businesses and in just being great employees, neighbors and parents.

Mom didn’t care about the color of an individual’s skin. She cared most about the positive impact an individual made in his or her realm in life, whether it be in great positions of influence or within the heart of a peaceful neighborhood.

As I write this, I don’t deny the many complicated aspects and emotions spurned by racism, now and throughout the past.

As I said, I don’t know I can add anything of real value to the discussion. I was taught to try to love and respect every person and, in a very imperfect way, I’ve tried to do those things. That’s all I really understand.

This article originally appeared on Bartlesville Examiner-Enterprise: TupaTalk column