Into the Wilderness: Real World Intercession
I have been unable to write. The ruthless, wrongful murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmad Arbury and countless other Black and African Americans are, and rightly should be, our nation’s and our personal focus right now. The protests across our country call attention to the need to dismantle the institutions, systems, beliefs and assumptions that have allowed racism to be an ugly reality of being Black, Brown and African-American in the U.S.
Even in this, my personal story, when I reflect, I see these issues threaded through- the privilege of sending my child to treatment and of all the support systems to aid in her continued recovery.
When Catina went to wilderness, she left behind her best friend. This young woman had the courage to tell me what really happened with the bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label, an act that determined my decision to send Catina to Blue Ridge. This best friend is Black. Did you picture that when I wrote about her in Happy Birthday?
For me, she was my daughter’s best friend, the friend who not only crossed the forbidden line between friend and parent, but did so, I see now, for a white friend whose white mother could have reacted differently. That is courage and character.
I can see now that race was always there. I recall the wary glances as the girls giggled in stores at the mall. I attributed it then to the ruckus of teenagers. At the convenience store, they were watched closely while they filled enormous cups of soda. Once, when we took her and another friend, also Black, to an Italian restaurant, the service was extremely slow. We waited for a table in an empty restaurant; the waitress was rude. Both friends became quiet, lowering their heads, withdrawing into themselves. I thought they were tired. I realize now they could see what I could not.
Catina and her friend had parallel crises. They both struggled in school. They both skipped classes. They both experimented. They both went to the party that led to Catina’s assault. My solution was to send my daughter to wilderness and then residential treatment.
What about Catina’s friend? She went to a military boot camp for two months, the kind of program where drill sergeants yell as you stand at attention or belly crawl under a rope 12 inches from the ground. She came home scared. She struggled for awhile, so her mother and older sisters took charge. The power of a circle of Black women is unmistakable. They helped her find her way, and, today, she is doing much better.
I didn’t know this until nearly two years later when Catina finally returned home. I was so wrapped up in saving my daughter that the world outside disappeared. But in March, her friend’s mother called me- eerily, I had just written on my “to do” list to contact her.
This woman is remarkable. She came to the U.S. from Jamaica with a stop in Canada in between. She became a nursing assistant caring for elderly patients. She has adopted six disadvantaged children, my daughter’s friend the youngest. That is tenacity, heart, and commitment. In March, before recent events spotlighting once again the horrendous treatment of Black men and women, but always clearly a reality for her, she said something that surprised me: “you are the only mom who was nice to me.” Even in that moment, sadly, I misinterpreted what she meant. I underestimated the depth of racism in our country. As days passed, I pondered what she said, and I am still trying to get my mind around her daily experience. It is one I will never know.
I knew racism existed. I saw it when Colin Kaepernick kneeled during the national anthem. I supported him. But here is where I was wrong: I did not recognize the pervasiveness. The unrelenting assault our Black and African American brethren experience on a daily basis. That is what my daughter’s friend’s mom was sharing with me. And that is what I see, with great sadness. now.
Zeno was a Greek philosopher who developed a set of paradoxes designed to test our understanding of reality. Zeno struggled with a way to illustrate mathematically that motion really existed. The reality is that motion exists. We know it does- we walk and move every day- but how can it be illustrated? Mathematics never did the trick. Physical reality did.
I cannot stop thinking about this equation. A paradox is something that seems contradictory but when investigated is true. We know racism exists. And yet, there are those who deny its existence. We live in a great country. Yet, we live in a country filled with hate and judgment, systems set up to create an unfairness white people deny or can’t see. I see it in comments on articles on Medium and on Facebook. We see it in police brutality. In lack of access and opportunity. In hiring practices, leadership selection and unequal pay. The pandemic has hit the Black community harder. And Black women, multiple studies have shown, have particularly borne the brunt of the virus and economic downturn, losing jobs in numbers. Yet, many white Americans deny or underestimate this reality, living lives of privilege and thinking that’s the way it really is. It’s a blind filter that refuses to see: trauma is the lived experience of Black and African Americans.
I knew racism existed and yet did not realize how deeply it had infiltrated every part of our society.
Catina and her friend have since reconnected and are rebuilding a strong, supportive and healthy friendship. I have promised Catina that as soon as we are out of quarantine, her friend can come over again. She will be welcome in my home.
If I have any contribution to a better world, it is in raising two daughters who have always had Black, Brown and African-American friends. Not just as friends, but as best friends. I will not say my daughters are color blind, because I am uncertain if that can truly be possible in our divided country. But they seem to be. They champion equality, and they challenge anyone who demonstrates otherwise. I am learning from them to see better and listen more, to be keenly aware of the privilege that has given me, and them, opportunities and choices others have not. They give me a glimpse of what our future could be. With them, I have more actively and consciously joined the fight. I hope you will too.
Walk the Moon 