A Legacy I Am Grateful For

As parents, we leave legacies for our children. We may be intentional, or even strategic, about some of them. Others may be unintentional – good habits passed along casually or perhaps the painful effects of family dysfunction. But we pass them along.

My parents passed along a great one. Seeing the movie Hidden Figures a couple of weeks ago got me thinking about it.

My parents were high school sweethearts, raised in an area of the Virginia Appalachian Mountains not known for progressive attitudes toward race relations. Raised in families that generally defaulted to the cultural norm of the area.  

After college (Mom) and a stint in the Navy in order to get GI Bill benefits (Dad), they married and settled in Atlanta for Dad to finish his undergrad and then do his Master’s at Georgia Tech. This was the early to mid-50s. And they loved Atlanta – but upon graduation did not job hunt in Georgia. The reason? They planned to have kids and did not want to raise a family in a segregated state. It was a deliberate and reasoned decision. But there were many who thought they were making a big deal out of nothing.

A year or two earlier, Dad had caused a “faculty discussion” at Georgia Tech when, doing an assignment to write a paper on a controversial subject, he had predicted that schools would be integrated within 10 years. Brown vs. Board of Education established that within a year of his paper.

As a 4 year old, we drove through Georgia on the way to a family vacation and in addition to my first visit to Georgia Tech, I was shown water fountains that still had their “Whites Only” signs. And I was taught what was wrong about that. Another trip, a few years later and around the time of his successful run for Governor of Georgia, we parked on the street of Lester Maddux’s restaurant and Mom and Dad talked about this man, who kept pick ax handles in a container by the door of his restaurant to be used as weapons and who refused to serve those protected by the Civil Rights Act of 1964.

Here and there throughout the years, the message was clearly communicated. Teachable opportunities were looked for. And I grew up without the prejudice so prevalent in some circles, particularly for those coming from the same roots my parents did. 

It’s a legacy I am immensely grateful for.

As I moved into adulthood I asked my parents several times what caused them to break away from their culture, and even some of their relatives, that way. Why did they make a shift that many others didn’t make? And they couldn’t pinpoint a reason. But their ability – and their decision – to do that profoundly affected my life.

In the early 1990s, I was living in the suburban Atlanta area. We were taking our kids (ages 3 and 6) to Babyland General Hospital. It was a Saturday excursion during the fall, a nice drive and a fun family day. As we came to the town square in Cleveland, GA we saw a full-fledged Klan march. White robes. Pointed hats. Covered faces.  I was stunned – not that it still existed. I knew that it did. But that it was gathered, full force, mid day, in a town an hour from where I lived.

I’m not sure I made as much of the teachable moment as my parents would have. My memory is that I was too stunned – and unprepared – to handle the conversation with a 3 and 6 year old well. But I do know I’ve told them the story as they’ve grown up in the hopes that they will know and will understand. This is not okay.

Hidden Figures challenged me on many levels. It reminded me of a legacy I am grateful for. But it makes me want to think well about the issues we face today. The areas we encounter that are still “not okay”.  

Those who know me, know that I know how to do “sad” much more easily than I know how to do “angry”.  But I feel my sadness shifting a bit – maybe not all the way to appropriate anger, but at least toward a sense that sadness is not enough.  I don’t know what that will look like for me – but I know I’m supposed to press in and figure it out.