The Lecture

One day in my freshman year of High School, we had a guest teacher in our Social Studies class who said he was going to talk to us about “Observation Skills”.  As he began to lecture about the importance of being aware of our surroundings and those around us, a visitor knocked on the door, opened it, walked into the room, and began to speak with our teacher.  After a few minutes of conversation, he apologized to us for interrupting our class, and then departed.  The guest teacher then asked us to take out a sheet of paper and describe everything that had just happened, being as descriptive as possible about the visitor, and the reason for his visit.

Everyone started writing (after several groans) and after a few minutes, turned in their papers.  The teacher read over each one quickly, then went to the door and asked the visitor to come back inside.  The class started commenting to each other about various things that they knew were incorrect on their papers, but the teacher quieted everyone and told us he would read each paper.

“A large black man entered the classroom and spoke with the teacher for a few minutes.  He was wearing a gray suit and carried a small briefcase under his right arm,” began one paper.  Another wrote, “After class began, there was a knock on the door and a black man, about six feet tall and over two hundred pounds entered…” and, “Our teacher told us to observe everything around us, so I was looking around the room when the man came inside, so I didn’t really look at him carefully.  But I did notice that he was a big black man, maybe even a football player, or perhaps a new coach at our school.”

Each paper was read aloud, and while the color of the man’s suit varied, or the fact that he had a briefcase, or some papers, or that he talked about different things, one fact was always correct (and usually mentioned in the first sentence).  The visitor was a black man.  One paper had not been read.  It was mine.  The teacher gave it to the visitor to read.

“Soon after the beginning of our Social Studies class, I heard a knock on the door and a man entered the room.  Our teacher and the visitor apparently knew each other quite well and seemed to be good friends, judging from their smiles and the personal nature of their conversation.  They were both from New York City and were trying to arrange a time to meet later that evening.  The man opened a briefcase and gave our teacher a small booklet.  He closed the case, shook our teacher’s hand and began to exit.  On his way to the door, he turned to the class and said he was sorry to have disturbed our lecture.

The man was about six feet tall, with a large, muscular build, similar to a football player.  He had a dark complexion, and close-cropped hair, graying slightly at the temples.  He was wearing a medium-gray tweed suit with a red plaid vest.  His most striking characteristic was his broad infectious smile that put everyone so at ease.”

The visitor asked the person who had written the paper to stand, and so I did.  He shook my hand, and said, “It’s people like you who give me hope for the future.”  He had tears in his eyes.

I still had not fully realized the significance of the class until the man left the room and the instructor told us that the lecture was actually about racism in America.  He read again the first line of several papers—“A black man entered.”  With one exception the entire class had seen not a “man”, but a “black man.”  I was very proud to be that exception, and I credit my parents, especially my mother with raising me to see beyond such prejudices.  I credit myself with trying to always “be myself” and go out of my way to have a different way of looking at everything.  I have always prided myself that I have “marched to the beat of a different drum”.

About a week later, though, I opened my gym locker and found that a piece of notebook paper had been slid through the vent with the words “NIGGER LOVER” written on it.  My gym clothes inside smelled of urine.

We still had a very long way to go.