This past summer, I dropped off my son at my dad’s place for his yearly visit. As we exchanged some casual banter, my father suddenly scanned his yard and said, “I’m glad your son is here to help tidy this place up. It’d be nice if it looked like a white person lived here.”
He chuckled, and my son joined in, laughing at Grandpa’s joke, blissfully unaware of the implication behind those words.
I, however, was not laughing. Growing up, I was exposed to comments like this. They seemed innocent when I was younger; I thought my dad was just trying to be funny. Raised in the South by staunch Southern Baptists, he learned that superiority was a way of life, and those who lived differently were often dismissed. While his comments were subtle, they were still damaging. I regret not speaking up sooner, only finding my voice in my 20s (better late than never, right?).
I never echoed my father’s words, but I also didn’t challenge them. I shrugged off his comments, thinking they weren’t worth my time. But having kids of my own changed everything. Those phrases ignited a fire in me, and it made me feel sick. I refuse to let my children hear such nonsense. While I can’t shield them from all the hatred in the world, I can certainly stand up against it when it rears its ugly head, even if it means confronting my imposing father.
To him, these are “just words,” but they do harm. They hurt those they target and the listeners who absorb them. Our children are the future, and we owe it to them to nurture a world that’s more inclusive and accepting than the one we inherited. The cycle of hate and prejudice has persisted for generations, causing fear and anger while costing too many lives. It has to stop with us.
I rarely speak up to my father, but that day in August, I realized I had to use my voice. My previous gentle nudges to tone down his remarks about my son’s necklace or his “mama’s boy” status hadn’t landed. This time, he crossed a line.
“Dad, don’t talk like that in front of my son. He hears you,” I said firmly.
My father, towering over me at more than six feet tall, stood silent for a moment before looking at his feet. “I was just trying to be funny,” he replied.
“Not funny, Dad. Not even close.”
Since that day, he hasn’t made such comments around me. I hope I made him reconsider his words, but he’s in his 60s, and those thoughts have likely been ingrained for decades. It’s disheartening to see someone I love miss out on so much due to ignorance.
I’m glad my son witnessed that confrontation. If it hadn’t happened, I might have let it slide once more, writing my dad off as a lost cause. More importantly, he saw me stand up for what’s right—rejecting my father’s excuses and advocating for everyone affected by his words.
It’s time to break the cycle. We need to start now.
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In conclusion, we must confront the biases we see around us because the next generation deserves better.