We Still Have a Long Way to Go

 George Jefferson. Cliff Huxtable. The Fresh Prince. Do those names ring a bell? I am willing to bet they do for most of you. Back in the mid-seventies and eighties, there were more than a handful of successful sitcoms on television depicting black family life. Because of their high ratings, many of those sitcoms are still in syndication today and watched by millions. With bigger-than-life characters like the three mentioned above, it's easy to see why. Their shows put smiles on our faces and laughter in our hearts. But let there be no mistake: these shows were much more than just sources of fun for us. They made us – minorities in particular -reflect on our lives and situations. Each one had an underlying theme: maybe with hard work, determination, and belief in oneself, you can meet your life dreams. The writers of these shows certainly got it right. Their message was the same one our parents and teachers told us for ages. Hard work translates into success. Good stuff- great message – I must say. But here's something to ponder: Does that mean that race and ethnicity play little, if any, role in shaping one's success and acceptability in our society?

Examining that question further, memories of my parents' life journey, struggles, and dreams for us and themselves come to mind. My Dad and Mom were born and raised in South Carolina. As poor Black Americans growing up in the South, it wasn't easy for them. They lived during a time when opportunities for people of color were limited, and Jim Crow laws were prominent. Relative to the latter, I remember some of the stories Dad told us. Many were unbelievable, And a few were just plain shocking! One that still haunts me today involved a young black man from his area who was popular among the ladies. He was a smooth-talking, flashy guy who loved to flirt.

You couldn't tell him anything. He was the man in his eyes and maybe his friends! However, one day, this otherwise harmless guy forgot about Jim Crow and his restrictions as a black man. When an attractive, young white woman passed him by on the street, he made the biggest mistake of his life. He boldly whistled at her. It was the worst thing that any black man could do back then in the South. One can only ask, "What was he thinking?" Maybe this is why no one was shocked when he ended up missing the following day- never to be seen again. The only real question that was on the minds of many was how he took his last breath.

Against this background, Dad grew up in Smoaks, South Carolina. If you never heard of Smoaks, you are not alone. Even people who have lived in South Carolina for years have never heard of Smoaks. My Dad lived in a wooded area off one of the roads. I wish, like anything, that I could describe the house he grew up in as a child, but I can't. My Dad didn't talk too much about that house. Maybe he was too proud. However, I do know that the house was not one you would find in a House and Garden Magazine; My brother and I suspect it was a log cabin or something close to it with an outhouse in the back.

Nonetheless, Dad and his family were not alone in the woods. They had company. Dad's Uncle Robert and his family lived only a few yards away. Their house - a carbon copy of Dad's - faced one another. No other houses were nearby or in sight.

Though isolated from everybody else, they were, by no one's stretch of the imagination, recluses or loners. Maybe just the opposite: they were popular and admired in the area. Many locals even had a unique name for them: The Mighty Heavy Blacks. That reference, incidentally, had nothing to do with their size or racial identity. Most of them were small in stature. And Black was their surname, just like mine: So why The Mighty Heavy Blacks label? Without running the risk of sounding cocky or arrogant, they called them that because they stood out. Not only were they nifty and self-assured, they were popular in and out of school.

All the same, like thousands of other Black Americans from the South during the late 30s and 40s, Dad and just about all his brothers, sisters, and first cousins left their southern birthplace for a better life. They ended up in New York. It's good that Dad had multiple skills, was a hard worker, and was a vet with an honorable discharge. He quickly found employment. He got a job as a presser. Though that pressing job wasn't commensurate with his skills - Dad had some college - it paid the rent and put food on the table for him and my Mom. However, Dad was a very insightful man. He realized early that his job as a presser didn't offer any absolute security. It was a day-to-day thing. He wanted a job that would provide a pension and a health plan to cover my Mom, himself, and us - his future children.