A black man spent his childhood without a mother
He didn’t know his mother and grew up in Baltimore. Soon after his birth, his mother left him. Nobody explained to him why she vanished. He had no idea of her appearance or even her state of life. At 17, though, he had his first encounter with his white mother, setting off a journey that would test his preconceptions and alter the course of his life.
The Meeting that changed black man’s Life
My younger brother Patrick and I were taken to a sizable red brick structure surrounded by chain-link fencing in rural Maryland at the start of that day. The structure might have served as both the jail and the prison in “The Shawshank Redemption.” Mom was led inside by a hospital attendant. Our eyes met at that point, and she gave me a hug. We were sitting in a mental hospital waiting room.
At the notorious Crownsville Hospital Center, our mother was a patient. Nobody had revealed to us that she was suffering from schizophrenia, a terrible mental ailment. We didn’t learn that until we came across her in the waiting area. That day, my mother told me she had spent years imprisoned in that dreadful place.
Within the first fifteen minutes of our first encounter, my mother disproved that notion. That encounter served as a catalyst for a change in the individual. Later that year, when I started college, I made my first friends who were white. I became a member of a white evangelical church that promoted racial harmony. I sat in white people’s hands during private Bible lessons and we prayed together about our difficulties. It was the first time I had ever spoken to a white person about my hopes and fears.
Black man stopped meeting her mother
Then something occurred that made me doubtful once more. I began to interact with other relatives of my mother. At first, I was reluctant to meet her. My father and other family members had told me tales that succinctly explained why she was not in my life. She was accused of being racist. She was not mentally sick, unlike my mother. I believed Mom had no justification for ignoring me as a boy. But I gave in because I thought she was trying to say sorry. I was also curious.
Why didn’t you reach out to me when I was younger? I eventually questioned her one day during a phone call. Was that a result of my being a black man? The other side of the line was silent. Later, she continued in a measured voice. She clarified, “It wasn’t because you were a black man.” It was because you weren’t a Catholic.” Although I was fuming inside, I stayed silent.
After that, I stopped calling her. There was no meeting that I wanted to attend. I hated spending so much time and energy trying to understand individuals who didn’t want to talk to me. When I started working as a journalist, I enjoyed writing stories on racial harmony. However, aside from my mother, I had no desire to engage in it when it came to the white members of my family. Then something transpired that I had not anticipated. In the paint aisle of a Lowe’s home improvement shop, of all places, I had to face my race.
Why the racial reckoning fizzled
Due to a somber anniversary, this tale seems worth sharing: Three years have passed since a white police officer killed a black man named George Floyd on a Minneapolis street. That incident will be remembered next month. Books by black writers that question racial inequity are being banned by white politicians and educators, and several states have passed legislation that makes it unlawful to teach American history in a way that would inflict shame or distress on white children.
What a Black Man’s Mother Taught Him
You don’t have to be wealthy, intelligent, or educated to change the country, as my mother taught me. She and other unsung heroes contributed to creating this new America, where interracial unions and mixed offspring are uncommon. I don’t mean to imply that racism will end if black people embrace the closest white person. Racism is also about power, not just individual feelings.
Every time someone attempts to get along with someone who is different or joins a group where not everyone shares their views or appearance, they are starting that positive contagion. I’ve witnessed people, including myself, transform in ways I never could have anticipated when that occurs. And if people can change, so can a nation.
Conclusion
A black man spent his whole childhood without a mother before meeting her at the age of 17. He discovered her mother had schizophrenia, a severe form of mental illness, after meeting her. He questioned his mother, “Why didn’t you contact me when I was younger?” She said, “Because you’re a Catholic.” The black man stopped meeting her after hearing that.
