In 1968, I was six years old and in the first grade at a small rural elementary school in East Tennessee. I had a friend named Cindy in my class.
We ate lunch together, played jump rope together at recess, all those things little girls do. Being little girls, I wanted to invite my friend, my first ever friend, over after school. I asked my mom if Cindy could spend the night. Could I have a sleepover?
She said yes. I was so excited. I could hardly wait until the next day so I could ask Cindy. We would watch TV, maybe pop some corn, stay up passed our bedtime giggling.
When my dad came home from work that night my mom told him I wanted to ask Cindy over. I don’t think I was supposed to hear them argue. I couldn’t hear everything they said, only that my dad was mad, and I couldn’t understand why.
Through their bedroom door, voices raised, my dad more angry than I could remember, was yelling.
“I won’t have that little n… kid in my house!”
My mom came to me and in a soft, quiet voice told me this weekend wouldn’t be a good time to have Cindy over.
“When will be a good time?”
“I don’t know, honey.”
I asked her why my daddy had called my friend such a horrible name. She didn’t have an answer.
That was a pivotal moment in my life. More than 40 years later, I can still feel the hurt and confusion over why my friend wasn’t welcome in my home. I carried that memory with me, and as a parent of two children of my own, I have tried to raise them differently.
I have tried to break out of that ancestry of bigotry and prejudice so that when my children meet new people, they are “not judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.”
Today, on the observance of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday, I remember Cindy and wonder where she is and how her life unfolded.
We must remember the lessons we learned, so we don’t repeat them in the future.
*originally published Jan. 21, 2008
Thin spiral notebook 
This is so perfect. I was lucky that my parents weren’t (overtly) racist – I remember dating a guy after college who introduced me to the various ethnic slurs, since I’d never heard them before – but my grandparents, especially my Irish Catholic Chicago cop grandfather, and other relatives of that generation absolutely were. So sad that she couldn’t come… and I do hope she is happy in life now.
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Its terrible how some people just can’t see past a color of someone’s skin. Especially NOW. Back then, it wasn’t acceptable. But now? I just can’t even. ps: you were super adorable!
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There is no worse trait than ignorance.
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Many, many parents grew up with that kind of dislike when you and I were kids. It’s the way they were raised. Doesn’t make it right, obviously – it’s just how it was. Thank God and Martin Luther King that the dawning of the Information Age brought us to new and higher levels of understanding.
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Tara this is SUCH a lovely post. And you are such a lovely person.
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Thank you for sharing this incredible story. It has a very powerful message that we all need to hear.
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A wonderful post. Thank you for sharing.
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great story tara. my dad had issues too, one time my mom had my hair braided and he made my mom take them out when I went to visit him because that was a hairstyle for “black” people. even as a kid I was so hurt and disturbed by this. I didn’t understand it, thankfully my mom raised me and raised me to be a loving/kind person to everyone despite what they look like or where they come from!
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It wasn’t until I was 8 and at an Air Force Base school that I had friends who were black. There was definitely prejudice, but, thankfully, not in my house. You can criticize the armed forces on many points, but they really did a great job — at least in this “child’s” eyes and in what my dad said — promoting color blindness ahead of the curve.
I remember this post. I remember feeling so bad for you as a child and for Cindy. Good thing you took that with you and changed the world for your own kids.
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Thank you Tara. First of all, I found out how old you are, thank good ness its older than me. Second, that is a cute picture of you when you were the same age as my my daughter, Carly (Goose) now, awesome. Third, I wanted to write something similar but my mom and dad read my blog and I don’t want to embarrass or unneccesarily anger them.
Great post.
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