Black History Month 2011
In 1998 I moved to South Carolina. My exposure to black history and racial prejudice had until that time been largely influenced by television, movies, and what I had read. I had no first-hand experience of life in the southern US. I was naive enough to think racial differences were part of the past. It did not seem possible to me that such a thing as “voluntary segregation” could exist in the late 1990’s. The term “voluntary segregation” was introduced to me in a short-lived friendship that I had with a young black man from South Carolina, named Wendell. It meant that although blacks were by law no longer segregated, black and white people still chose to live separately. It was expected. It made things easier for everyone. And in truth, when I looked around my neighborhood we were by far white. Wendell told me about “voluntary segregation” on the last day I ever saw him. Wendell and I had instantly become friends when we met but we did not remain friends for long because of the compromises he would have had to make, the risks he would have had to take, in associating with me, a white woman. It was a shock and disappointment to me at the time. A deep hurt curled its way inside my heart for the bitter, sad truth of it. Wendell has remained in my thoughts and prayers all these years and I wrote the following poem in honor of him for this 2011 Black History Month. Wherever you are Wendell, this is for you, my friend.
~ Wendell
his name was Wendell
he was the first black friend
I ever had
with a smile so big
it stretched across his face
and sparkled in his eyes
and took me by surprise
and made me smile back
made me laugh with him
just for the joy of it
made me like him
want to get to know him
talk to him
made me want to be his friend
his name was Wendell
and we sat on the steps
of my front porch
that first day
looking out at the southern afternoon
with the sun so hot
and the air so thick and drowsy
the day so slow
that we languished in the lazy shade
me a white woman
he a black man
in a place where I was to learn
that color
still made a difference
still mattered
still separated
still painted prejudice
on the hearts of those
good southern Christians
like a sad song they were born to sing
like a brutal burden they were doomed to bear
simply because they always had
and for no better reason than that
but on that first day
on that thank you God for Wendell day
he was my friend
making me laugh ‘til my sides hurt
slap my knee
throw back my head
wipe the tears from my eyes
shake me, make me feel good laughs
and for a space of time
he remained my friend
he told me things
showed me things
let me see the south his way
but there came a day
that wish to God it never came day
when Wendell said
we could no longer be friends
his smile was gone
our laughter silenced
by an ugly truth
as we stood in my kitchen
him telling me
that the way of south
would never really let us be
friends
me a white woman
he a black man
it’s the way that it is
the way it’s always been
best you leave it alone
best I go on home
I told him no
not where I come from
he put his hand on my arm
looked into my eyes
this ain’t your place
you must realize
it’s better this way
easier too
here in the south
it’s what we do
I go my way
you go yours
and he walked out my door
his name was Wendell
he was the first black friend
I ever had
and even after all these years
and all this time
the regret lingers with me
gnaws at my conscience
of what is right
and what is terribly wrong
so I carry Wendell in my heart
and wish for him
hope for him
long for him
to one day be
my friend
again
02.12.2011
