Yes, Some of my best friends are white

It is the year 2008, and I remember as a child, dreaming and counting, trying to figure out how old I would be when the calendar said goodbye to 21st and hello to the 22nd century. And here we are eight years removed from that time that as I child I thought would never get here. I’m seeing things in my lifetime that my grandfather could only have dreamed about. I wish he were alive to see Barack Obama.

Then I think back to that moment a few months ago when I realized that he could actually become President. With all the adjectives in the English language I couldn’t describe that moment, and then I immediately go back to my grandfather and try to imagine what he would have felt had he had the opportunity to come to that same realization. That young boy born in 1920 near a cotton field in rural Georgia could not have imagined such a thing because his surroundings wouldn’t let him. Every dream about such a thing would have been crushed. Maybe it would have been crushed Ku Klux Klan or maybe by the great depression or perhaps I would have been crushed by his father being poisoned to death by a white man when he was just 12. It could have been a combination of all those things.

I reflect on this now because I’m of age, and because I’m of age I also realize that it wasn’t the number of years I’d lived but how I lived them and the people I chose to share those years with that define me. The lovers, the enemies, the friends are all part of how I reason and how I view the world. With this age has comes a new freedom to be comfortable, and the revelation that learning is not being in school. Conforming and lying to myself about myself gives way to honesty and fortitude. Wishful thinking gives way to planning, and friendship gives way to brotherhood. It is the combination of all these new tools that I examined some of friendships and how they were born and how they matured.

I was at a wedding this past week and it seems that somewhere between drinking and middle age all your friends want to get married. One of my good friends was getting married and I was happy that the day had finally come because I knew they really loved each other and were suppose to be married. There’s always that couple that you know should be married because that’s just the way it’s suppose to end or start (how you look at it is up to you). Weddings have a way of causing one to reflect on life and its many nuisances. Maybe it’s the beauty of seeing two people join each other for life and promising to love one another only. Maybe it’s the ceremony or the vows you hear exchanged, which leave you thinking that there’s no way I can ever say all that to a women and mean it. What ever causes this period of reflection is a mystery, and this time it made me reflect on something that I’d never really pondered or tried to figure out because it’s just something that’s existed for so long.

Like most people I have two sets of friends. Your sets maybe work friends versus at home friends, or college friends versus high school friends, but mine is a little different it’s my white friends and my black friends. I don’t really do work friends but I have made a couple and they know who they are but I always tried to leave work at work. What’s funny is that my white friends are my high school friends and my black friends are my college friends with a few Jewish guys and few Hispanics sprinkled in there incase a race or holy war pops-off (just joking Dan). My Hispanics friends are mainly women; enough said.

It seems that we’re at a time in American where no one wants to talk about race. Barak Obama is a viable candidate for President but no wants to mention that because he’s black and the chance of him becoming President is slimmer than a greyhound on a crash diet. The discussion of race is taboo, but I keep waiting for John McCain or Hilary Clinton say something like, “get real his a nigger for Christ sake”. In that one little statement you’ve got it all for the Republican’s new mantra because you know how they like to use Jesus to validate everything. I think my situation is a microcosm on race relations in America. At times we can be dysfunctional because there are still things we don’t agree on when it comes to race but we recognize that we don’t have to.

I was born in South in 1977, and that should be enough information to understand what views of race were taught to me. My grandparents did the majority of the rearing on a small farm in Thonotosassa, Florida, which is just outside of Tampa. My grandparents age and the location of their births lend a lot to the views they had on race, and it wasn’t that they weren’t sophisticated enough to have more enlightened views but the opportunity wasn’t afforded to them. I’m not going to say what those views were because it would only serve to detract form what I will write later in this commentary, but one can deduce what those views were based on the information I’ve already provided.

We were not taught to be the most racially tolerant or the most racially sensitive people, and some may view that as the perpetuation of ignorance or indifference but we see it as perpetuation of self preservation. Sure they had white friends, coworkers and employers but at home the trust of whites was not something that was encouraged. White people were in the world but they were hardly ever in our home. They were our teachers our grocers and a few business partners of the grandfather and my uncles but few were friends. I can remember only two white friends and one Chinese friend they had (I’m not sure if he was Chinese but I am sure he was Asian).

Let me be clear that I will not defend my grandparent’s views because I think they were the wrong views, but I will not defend them because I don’t think they need defending. There are some that might think that what they felt was wrong, but I believe that those who made them feel this feeling were wrong. Both had family members killed by the Ku Klux Klan, and when they tried to by the property in Thonotosassa the realtor tried to take advantage of them by listing himself as the sealer. To explain that further, by listing himself as the sealer my grandparent’s down payment would have went to him and they would have be cheated out of their down payment and their property. Those are just a few of the issues that would have caused their jaded view of whites, and not to mention every other challenge they would have had to face as part of being black in the South.

As for me, I was introduced to white people early in my life via school. I spent 3 years in public schools and then from there I went to some of the finest private schools the Tampa Bay Area had to offer. I would live in a world where everything I knew was black but I would go to a school where almost everything was white, and this I where I would meet some friends I would have for life. I knew they were white and I was black. I knew we were different, but we were friends.

I had gone to a few private schools before I’d reached Temple Heights Christian School. I was the start of my junior year of high school and by this point the months were moving quickly and the years were folding together like paper. After Junior high school things were moving so fast that I arrived at the school looking to finish those two years and be on my way to college. This was my third high school and when I moved from my first school to my second I promised to keep in touch with the friends I’d made at the first but I never did. Looking back over the episode, I realize that’s just how life works to keep the people in your life that belong there and weed out those that don’t.

On the first day I sought out the few black kids that were there and we all bonded as we normally do. We bonded around movies, music, and sports. As you may have guessed all the black kids played sports and we were damn good too. We associated with whites but only a few stuck. All the black kids dated white girls and I wasn’t really in to that at first but when in Rome.

I was close to four white kids and four only. I knew others, but I wouldn’t really call them friends at the time because you can always get a feeling form some one when you first meet them, and I didn’t get a health feeling from most. I call my test the “would you call me nigger test” because when your black you know who says nigger when you’re not around. I believe Dave Chappelle put it best when he said, “from a nigger who says nigger a lot that nigger says nigger all the time”.

Out of the four that I considered close only a two remain today, but that is also true of the black friends I’d made. Over the years I’ve added a few white friends but they all stem from the relationships I made at Temple Heights Christian School. These are my white friends: Chris Probst, Mike Probst, Matt Brewer, Dan Mascari, Dan Ribas, Carson Hiles, and David Council.

We are all friends. I do have a large number of black, most of which I made in college, but my white friends and I kind of grew up together. Some of my friends were added to my friend group late, but none less than five years ago so we’ve all been together for a while. There are some differences between my black group of friends and my white group and the similarities are few but vital.

Friends, no matter the color, all carry a few traits that allow them to truly be called friends. When one looks at a set a friends he or she should see a few things that are constant. We should see a fraternity, a brotherhood and a life time of friendship.

When we all get together it’s always a celebration. I’m always happy to see each and every one of them. The object of race is never an issue but it’s never forgotten or swept under the rug. My race, my culture, my heritage is always respected and I lend the same courtesy. They introduced me to a variety of things such as music, films, and I must say they introduced me to Youtube.

It’s a different party then with my black friends when we all come together but the love is felt none the less. I never slip in or out of the vernacular in order to fit or to be understood. My informal way of speaking with them is the same as with any other person I call friend. White or black, friends allow each other to be themselves.

For some one on the outside looking in it might appear strange to see us interact. I know that others ask themselves, “how are they friends or even yet how do they know other?”

The fact that we don’t really fit, is the reason I think they’re my friends. If for one minute I felt like they were trying to “act black” then I’d feel like our friendship wouldn’t be genuine. Everyone in my group has had the moments where we loved Hip Hop music, and we all love repeats of Sanford and Son, but if they ever came to my house dressed like Lil Wayne I think we’d have a problem. I love them for what they are and that happens to be raped in white skin.

However, I did notice that I was only 1 of 3 black people at the wedding but who’s counting. I almost forgot the DJ was black. The only reason I mention that is because I didn’t notice the ratio until the next day. I look around and all I saw were friends. I’m not going to use a cliché and say I didn’t see color because I always see color. I’m black and I notice black people because I like them a lot, but with my white friends them noticing the race of people at places we go is never a factor.

I must include that I’m not the only black person in our group there’s another and we all met at the same place, and cultivated this uncomplicated relationship years ago. I also must say, at times I do look for him and when I’m there and he’s not I do get asked a lot where he’s at as if I’m there so he’s got to be there. So yes, there are two of us and I don’t know if he thinks the same way about the circle I as do but he should.

After this moment of reflection my thoughts turn again to my grandfather. He never taught me hate but he did teach me caution about race relations. I realize how far we’ve come as a society and I really don’t know that if we take this group of people and put it back in the 60’s that we would have been friends. Would the country have let such a relationship foster with the racial climate being what it was? A couple of black dudes, a few white boys and a nice young Jewish boy could not have been friends in Jim Crow South, or maybe it could. Let’s not be ridiculous in that era we probably would never have met. We couldn’t have gone to the same school, even sat at the lunch counter or in our case the same bar.

But it’s nice that we met when we did. Perfecting timing is only the culmination of preparation so our friendship shows society has prepared itself for such a relationship to exist. The race of my friends has nothing to do with our friendship; we just exist under the umbrella of brotherhood. Race does matter, but friendship knows no hue.