The Respect Life focus for August is on racism. Open our hearts to be vessels of hope and justice in a world inundated with violence and injustice. Give us the courage to never stand on the sidelines as we witness injustice but walk with eyes open to the needs of our communities, with ears open to the needs of our world, and with hands open in helpful service to our neighbors.

LISTEN
Take 9 1/2 minutes today and watch this video in which Emmanuel Acho helps us better understand, systemic racism, social injustice, rioting & the hurt African Americans are feeling today: Uncomfortable Conversations with a Black Man - Episode 1  

The Respect Life Committee at St. Peter asked if Fonda Fantroy Richards and Joshua Fantroy (mother and son), would be willing to share some of their experiences dealing with race and unconscious bias.  As we prayed for them, about these deeply personal experiences, it was decided that an open-letter/first-person narrative format would be most powerful.  We are sharing these open letters throughout the month of August. Below is the second of 5 open letters, from Fonda and Josh, to our Parish. 

“You are just crazy.” How many times did I hear that? I heard it for each of the 9 children I fostered. I was one of a very few that wanted older children. I also learned that I did not want to just foster. I wanted them to have a place to call home with at least a mom and someone to love them. I wanted permanency and so did my children. Thus, they were adopted. When I adopted the last two children, the judge said to me, “so you now have the United Nations.”  Wow! I had never thought of it that way. My last two children were Vietnamese. Over the years, my children were faced with racism in the neighborhood by hearing that “a Black family lives there,” (I was the only Black) or a teacher making a racist comment. When they explained to the teacher that they did not approve of their remarks and that their mother was Black, the teacher would not believe them. My children would come home to ask me for one of the pictures of us to show their teacher.  Recently, due to the pandemic, my youngest son has been called some very vile names because they assume that he is Chinese. His only comment was, “only in America.” I am sure that many of you have heard about the “talk” that Black parents give to their children. Well, I had to have that talk with all of my children of color. I remember the talk with my son, who is American Indian. He looked at me and told me that he wasn’t Black. I had to take him to a mirror and ask, “What color do you see?” He couldn’t answer. I told him that he and I knew what he was, but the rest of the world would only see his color.  He couldn’t grasp the idea that, for years, everyone thought he was my biological son and Joshua was the one that I had adopted. Yes, this son was stopped on a regular basis and came to understand that he needed to carry identification on him to prove he lived in this community. Over the years, I have become accustomed to the stares, especially when I was called “Mom,” and to the questions about my family. We answered all questions, but the stares were just returned with smiles. When my children started dating, the first question I asked was, “Do they know about your family?” These memories and comments come to me as some of the struggles that we were faced with as a family of cultural diversity. It wasn’t just about offering different foods or celebrating different holidays. It was about identity. Being who each of us was born to be.  The memories come to me not only because I am Black, but because I am a mother who wants the best, including acceptance, for all my children. Now I have grandchildren, and now they get the questions and stares. Next week - Bias 

For this week’s installment, I thought I would share two different stories. I apologize ahead of time for the language, but it’s what was used with me and the reality I faced.  

The first incident happened back when I was in 7^th grade at a different Catholic school in the area. At that time in my life, I wore a cross on a necklace. During a class break, I went to grab a drink of water. As I leaned over the water fountain, the necklace fell out of my shirt. While I was drinking, I heard a fellow classmate say to another student, “That nigger is wearing a cross, a nigger cross.” I will always remember that moment. That moment of questioning my faith and race together. I still have that cross, and it will always remind me of that incident every time I look at it. I have never worn a necklace since. 

The second story is a little bit more comical, but I wanted to share it because it is about our unconscious bias. Growing up, my mother was a single mother and she would regularly go to the Working Woman’s Survival Show. As you can imagine, it is a very busy place with a lot going on. In my defense, as a 4-year-young boy, there are many vendors with free things for kids. Being a young boy, I may or may not have wandered off to get various items from the different vendors. My mother realized that I may or may not have snuck away from her. She panicked as any loving and caring mother would. She contacted security for help. The funny part about the show to me is that instead of having a missing child corral (because let’s be honest: kids are kids), they had a missing parent corral. So, security’s plan was to put my mother in the parent jail of shame (as I call it every time I get to share the story; sorry [not sorry] mom). 

Anyway, my mom described me to the security staff and the “be on the lookout” (BOLO) for me goes out. Next thing my mother knew, they were bringing her different kids who “loosely” matched the description. Only one observation: They all had a much darker complexion than me, her bi-racial child. As time passed, they kept bringing my mom all these different children. My mom finally said, “Bring me a white one (kid). Wait. Where did you steal all these Black kids from?”   Shortly after she said that, I happened to saunter by her with some balloons, food and other assorted goodies. The reason that I wanted to share this was that, even though it is funny, it illustrates preconceived notions or expectations we place on situations without even thinking about it. Even though she described what I was wearing and my curly light brown hair, they couldn’t find me. Stay tuned for next week’s installment about the racist one-year-old foster child.