Good Relationships Are More Than Skin-Deep

My wife Mary lived in Little Rock, Ark., in 1954. As a seven-year-old, she was blissfully unaware that the caldron of race relations would be boiling just three years later. And in the overflow, Little Rock would take center stage in the world's spotlight. Overnight, names like Daisy Bates and Central High School would become household words.

Mary often walked down her street to a nearby cemetery to play. She had no fear. Her world consisted of home, parents, siblings and pets, but they were enough.

One summer day she walked out onto her porch to survey her small world. She stopped on the steps and looked to both left and right. There was not a soul in sight; not one car passed the house.

Walking down the steps and on to the end of the sidewalk, she paused again to look both ways. Then she looked to the left once more. Was someone coming toward her? If so, the person was so far away that she couldn't tell how old or how tall the person was. Unaware of social graces that would tell her that standing and staring were impolite, she continued to stare.

She watched as a little girl approached. Mary continued to stare as the child drew nearer. Their eyes met. Not a word was spoken, and the little girl moved on past Mary.

With eyes locked, they continued to gaze at one another in silence. Suddenly, the little girl spun around and came right up to Mary, who was ready to receive whatever was presented to her.

For a few seconds, the two tiny girls silently sized up one another. Finally, the little girl spoke. "You're looking at me because I'm colored." Blacks were often referred to as "colored" in those days.

Mary mutely nodded her head yes, unable to explain that she was simply looking at whoever was coming up the sidewalk to enter her small, insulated world. The little girl's skin color made no difference to her.

"I bet you have never felt the skin of a little colored girl before, have you?" Again, no word passed from Mary's mouth. She just shook her head no.

"Would you like to feel of the skin of a little colored girl?" No sound, just a nodding of the head. The other child held out her arm for Mary to feel. Mary rubbed it, and it was silk.

"There. It feels just like yours, doesn't it." Mary nodded yes.

"There's no difference in the way your skin feels and the way mine feels, is there?" Mary shook her head no.

"Okay," said Mary's new friend. "Bye-bye, now."

"Bye-bye," said Mary, finally finding her voice.

They cheerfully waved to each other as the little girl went on her way up the street.

What an incredible mother that little girl must have had! In spite of those tumultuous times, she had instilled in her daughter a key to good relationships: they must be more than skin-deep.

Copyright 1999 James McAlister

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