When I was learning math as a child, the “less than/more than” exercise really struck a chord in me, mostly because, by First Grade, I had already been exposed to several related concepts, and close, human examples conflicting with those essential, kindred ideas. One was that we were all, in America, created equal, which meant that no one was less than, and no one was more than. I liked that; it seemed fair. Remember when, as a child, fairness was a basic value?
My mother had explained to me, however, that there was a reason why Mrs. F. treated a handful of my Kindergarten classmates poorly, as I had reported to her during that year: Mrs. F. was a snob.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“A person who thinks they’re better than others, not everyone, but certain other people, or groups of people.”
“Oh. So they think they’re more than?”
“Basically, yes.”
“But, mom, I love Mrs. F.”
“Yes, well, she loves you too — but that’s because you’re a good student, you’re musical, and you’re in a group she likes. And, not for nothing, she thinks your grandfather walks on water because he once led her ‘in’ group.”
“Oh. The more thans?”
“They’re not more than, but they think they are. No one, no one in America, is more than.”
It was complicated. Then she said, “Maybe you can do something to protect your classmates. … “you can try, anyway. Just remember that you have a kind of power because Mrs. F. favors you.”
I knew about this type of power, because my mom favored my older sister; my grandfather did too. I had seen my sister use that power to get what she wanted, occasionally even playing those two against one another, advancing her interests. Were interests the same as goodness? As fairness? It sure didn’t look or feel like it (it still doesn’t).
Happily, my First and Second grade teachers were both lovely non-snobs, but my Third grade teacher was on a whole other level. She hated most children, but especially disliked boys, which made for another challenging situation as she thought I was golden. I did my best to protect the boys in my class when I could, but mostly I anxiously sweated it out. We all also witnessed, that very long year, an adult we knew we were supposed to respect and take direction from daily treat two of our classmates — two 9-year-old children she’d failed the year before — as less than. It. Was. Horrid.
But another central, hard-to-accept concept I learned in childhood was that adults were not always fair, or nice, or honest, or true to the values they taught us. In fact, adults were incredibly inconsistent, and maybe even a little crazy. As an adult for several years now, I can confirm that this is 100% accurate.
When I was 14, I started clerking in my dad’s drug store. On Sundays, many regulars came in to pick up their newspapers, including Sydney W., who, like most other customers on that day, came straight from church. Sydney often wore a three-piece suit, and was very friendly; I thought he was incredibly handsome. He had a British-inflected Jamaican accent, which made me swoon (I’m a sucker for accents), but more than once I heard and saw other regular patrons mutter words of racist hate into his ear as they passed him coming in or out.
Sydney never responded verbally that I witnessed, but his body reacted, twisting away from the mutterer. If my dad wasn’t busy filling prescriptions, he always made a point of coming out from behind the counter to shake Sydney’s hand, a small act of decency in an often indecent, unkind and unfair world.
“I remember saying more than once, “Dad, you know that person who said that to Mr. W., he just came from church!”
‘That’s right, kiddo.” What I didn’t know then was that the reason Sydney, one of the few persons of color in town, and all of our many Jewish customers patronized my dad’s store was because the other pharmacist across the street refused to serve them.
On this, the 50th anniversary of Black History Month, we need reminding that racism, homophobia, anti-Semitism, sexism, xenophobia — among other mistaken belief systems, faults and flaws — are all learned and taught, just like basic math and the basic values of fairness, kindness, decency and honesty. Snobs — those who think they’re more than — come in all types and forms, and in times of change and upheaval, like right now, our inner, learned and most often unconscious biases can — and have — come charging to the fore. And, all of the above can be untaught. Unlearned. Given no gas, no juice, no airing. No service.
Mrs. F.’s “more thans?” Republicans.