There's a Racist in My Living Room!

Posted by Lynsalyns.

If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement...

*******

I moved to the Midwest with the highest hopes. At last, released from the clutches of my family drama! Relieved of the images of my dead father that lingered around every corner! Free to pursue the writing life and immerse myself in a community alive with ideas flowing like a river from the high-profile university two miles from my brand-new tract home.

Alas, it was not to be. This locale has proved interesting, but not exactly as I imagined. Hey, what is? Was turning 21 all you hoped it would be? Did marriage suddenly turn your husband into Martha Stewart in a three-piece suit? How's motherhood treating you? How about those idyllic, lazy mornings breastfeeding in a beautiful negligee while your adoring spouse looks on and snaps award-winning black-and-white art photos?

But honestly, this is a little much even for me.

I was wrangling the baby for a nap when my doorbell rang this week. The woman across the street was standing on my front porch. She and her family just moved into the house right across the street and she took me up on my spur-of-the-moment comment of "stop by any time, I'm home most of the day!"

I invited her in and we proceeded to have a lovely conversation. A freelance writer! You don't say! Me, too! Kids in high school and elementary school. That's a tough move for them. Doesn't this development kind of suck?

That last discussion led to this:

"My son came home from school and said, "Mom, do you know how many white kids are in my class? One, me!" she said, looking distressed. She went on to tell me how she and her husband are requesting a variance from the neighborhood association because a four-foot fence isn't tall enough to protect her grill and patio furniture from "those people." At this she waved her hand in the direction of the apartment complex that borders our development.

Indeed, many of the folks who live there are African-American. They are families and college kids and who knows what else – you know, people who live in apartments. I lived in an apartment 11 months ago.

The apartments gave us momentary pause when we bought this place, because we'd long resided near very noisy rental housing. We swung by late one evening to find the complex as quiet as can be. The only people I even see out on their tiny balconies are kids playing with their toys.

So I didn't know what to do when confronted by this person, with these hateful opinions. So I did what any self-respecting parent would do. I leaned on my toddler like a crutch and told the woman I needed to get her into her crib for a nap, could we talk again some other time?

I wish I'd had the guts to tell her off. I wish I'd seen her to the door, announcing that her kind wasn't wanted in my house.

Instead, I sat gaping like an idiot at the racist in my living room. Perhaps it is I who needs a six-foot fence.