My Jim Crow story.
My dad lived through Jim Crow as did his whole family.
Luckily for the family, my grandfather passed as white and he would act as a buffer.
If there was a restaurant and they weren’t sure if it was whites only, Grandpa would walk in first and leave the family outside so he could check.
If it was safe, he’d bring his family inside.
If not, they moved along to the next one.
My dad remembers sitting in the car waiting to find out if this was a place they could eat on a Sunday morning, or if they’d have to drive around trying to find something else.
That’s American Blackness, niggas.
It kills me that some people say there’s nothing about growing up black in america, during the great depression or otherwise, that’ll get passed down to you.
This does.
We still stay the fuck away from white neighborhoods.
My mom grew up in the 50s and has a panic attack when we get lost in a white neighborhood.
When she was growing up it was out and out violent war on us. Why should she like white people and why should I, her daughter, pretend like it’s all water under the bridge when Jim Crow never left he just stopped being so loud about it. But trust me, he’s no less proud.
Black Americans to this day STILL get mad nervous when they walk in a restaurant and there seems to be no one but white people in it. (Except the servers/busboys.)
(Source: crackerhell, via crackerhell)
