Jersey Days

Ever since I was a child, I've been blessed with being exposed to many different cultures, races and religions. The streets of Jersey City in the 60's were a microcosm of a larger and more discontented world. As the world outside churned with discourse, my little section knew only a little of war, or civil rights infringement or racism.

I was a blinded child. Color blind that is.

My neighborhood was happily integrated; my neighbors were Black, White, Puerto Rican, Greek, Filipino, Italian and Indian, the melting pot of Brinkerhoff Street. I often ask myself was that all a dream or did this homey, loving place with human beings all blended together really exist? As I look into the face of my little girl, barely in the world ten years, I pray that it wasn't a dream, but a reality that once was, and that can be again. It never occurred to me that things were so different for blacks than for other races; after all, everyone in my neighborhood seemed to be on the same economic level. The only family that had anything better than the rest of us was Dr. and Mrs. Sinclair. Even though he was a Doctor, it was never a big deal to him or to us.

My early life in Jersey City changed abruptly once we moved to Missouri and I attended the first all black school I had ever been too. I wasn't readily accepted because it was said that I talked "proper" like a white girl. I made a few friends there but ended up moving back to New Jersey for my 7^th grade year, without my Mother and Father just because I couldn't deal with the Missouri culture shock.

I returned there for 8^th grade, but it was still hard; my junior high school was predominately black as well, another roller-coaster ride.
I adjusted as much as I could, but I never felt that I completely fit in. Had it not been for my best friend Bridget Jones, I wouldn't have made it through the rest of Jr. High. What I didn't know at the time was I was in store for a whole new phenomenon in high school; the biggest changes and challenges were still ahead of me. Southwest High School was approximately 90 percent white, and 10 percent "other" including blacks. I could almost count every single black guy in the school, there weren't that many, but most of them had joined a club called the "Greyhounds", bottom line, they dated white girls exclusively, no black girl need apply.

So in a nutshell I went from a radically mixed Jersey City neighborhood, to the Missouri all black school where I wasn't accepted, to the mostly white school where I wasn't accepted either and would probably never have a date. Talk about confused! I just couldn't understand why people didn't accept people for who they were not what they looked like, like in the old "Jersey Days".

So many times in high school I would daydream about my little Jersey neighborhood where I'd walk down to the corner store "Bea's" and buy lots of penny candy, the owners were a little Irish couple whom I loved. We had such colorful store owners, the Jewish man who owned the Deli where we'd get pickled pig's feet, the Italian family that owned the pizza shop down the block, or the old fashioned ice cream shop in the Junction owned by a white family, it was like a movie set.

Those are my most wonderful and vivid memories as a child. My grandmother worked and saved until she could buy a multifamily house on Brinkerhoff Street. Our next store neighbor was Mr. Tully; his home was also a funeral home. I wanted to transport back to the days when it didn't matter that I was a little black girl, I had friends, I had crushes and I had adults of all ages and colors that truly cared about me.

I eventually found my little cliche in high school and that helped me to survive the rejection and self-consciousness I always felt. While I had grown up in a neighborhood that had all sorts of people, now I found myself feeling intimidated and jealous of my white counterparts most of the time. They all seemed to be really smart, had great cars, always had money and always had a good time. I realize now that my little Jersey City melting pot could not have existed if we had paid attention to what we didn't have.

Money separates us more then skin color and culture ever could, the haves and have nots didn't exist in my little Jersey City world.

As I mentioned, we all lived in the same income bracket and perhaps that is why there was never any tension, strife, jealously etc., just neighborly affection and concern when need be. I had tremendous hopes for college since high school had been so uninspiring, college proved to be the answer to all of my questions. Baker University was also predominately white, but with a very strong core of black students.

Even so, my friends and I like to listen to all types of music, including many white groups and we never missed the Delta Tau Delta (a white frat) parties. We stood strong in our blackness, but we didn't exclude friendships that we made with other races. I even had a crush on a few white guys.

After college, I had a short 3 year stint as a flight attendant which brought me into the real world where I would rarely see another black face. My roommates were white, (some of the best people I knew) all the passengers and crew were white on just about every single flight. I began to see just how small in numbers we were. African-Americans are clustered in major metropolitan areas for the most part, I realized that when I was out there, flying to Iowa, and Arizona etc. It was amazing that I managed to meet my husband (a black man who was a passenger), on a flight.

Flash forward 20+ years since college, I still enjoy the diversity of my friends, they are an array of many colors, cultures and religions. My Jersey City microcosm is back, and that brings me much happiness. Perhaps my friends are a reflection of my desire to re-live my childhood, perhaps it's the craving I have to know how another human being works, thinks, what he or she loves about life and existing. I think if we all did that, we would almost always come to understand why people are the way they are.

I have also come to realize that no matter how willing I am to accept anyone, there will always be others that do not accept me because I am an African-American. There are people who aren't ready for my kind, an educated, self sufficient, progressive human, doing my thing. I live in a middle class neighborhood; my daughter goes to a great school; I have my own business and my husband is in information technology.

We are the face of the new African-American. What makes some people of different races uncomfortable with us? We're survivors. We've proven that we can accomplish anything anyone else can, and we have managed not to sell our souls in the process. Our faith in is God solid and we always know from where our blessings come. Those who don't fear us applaud our strength; they want to see us make it to the summit.

The others, the old guard as I like to call them, will stop at nothing to break us down. Knowing this, I caress my little corner of the world and try to educate my friends about what it's like to live in my skin. Even though they could never fully or truly understand my life, they know me the human being, they know of my passions and they can see what things matter to me. With that knowledge I get through to them, they can see through my eyes my America, not only the land that enslaved my ancestors, but the land that will eventually produce our first black president.