The Dilemma of Robin's Birthday Party

Waiting to pick up my son outside of his friend’s home reminded me of the day I learned that my parents were afraid of white people.

Robin casually slipped an envelope on my desk right before she took her place in our lunch lineup. A glance revealed that my name was printed in bold letters on the envelope. Immeasurable glee flooded my third-grade spirit.

While gingerly slipping the envelope into my plaid colored lunchbox, a broad smile erupted. Calm was an elusive state as I waited for my name to be called to line up for lunch. Curiosity tore at every fiber of my being, and it seemed as though I would burst before I was able to inspect the envelope contents.

The Invitation

The trip to the cafeteria seemed to take days instead of minutes. A quick plop down at the bland tan table preceded my fidget with the rickety metal lunchbox clasp. Oh, the joy of freeing the envelope from its plaid prison.

My eyes grew wide as they consumed the words ~You’re Invited~.

Excitement morphed into full jubilation when I realized this was an invitation to Robin’s birthday party!

My two years in this foreign integrated school had not prepared me for what would happen next. Yes, I was invited, but would my parents let me go?

My pondering about my parents allowing me to attend had nothing to do with skin color, so I thought. My mom and dad were super protective, le sigh. I never went anywhere without one of my older siblings tagging along.

There was no certainty that my 11- year old brother or my 14- year old sister would agree to be my plus one for the party. Turns out, that was the least of my worries.

The Uncomfortable Revelation

When the yellow hound turned on my street and pulled up to the bus stop, I sprinted to the house. My mom was making dinner in the kitchen when I bolted through the front door.

Completely out of breath by the time I made eye contact with my mom, words could barely be released from my mouth. I managed three words as I handed mom the envelope.

“Can I go?” I asked in a voice sprinkled with humble sincerity.

Mom surveyed the invitation with a glance. “I didn’t even realize you had a friend in the neighborhood named Robin,” mom remarked. “I don’t, mom. Robin lives near the school,” I said abruptly. My mom gave the invitation a more scrutinous inspection, specifically the address. “I have to talk to your dad about this when he gets home.”

My hopes were dashed because this glorious invitation had become a “thing.” My parents only gave answers without consulting each other if issues were simple.

When something was a “thing,” my parents discussed it behind closed doors. My workaround to ear hustle was to sit on the living room couch next to their bedroom and pretend to read a book. This move provided a front-row seat to their “private” discussions.

The discussion turned into a debate that lasted for two hours! I had one major takeaway before they announced the verdict.

My parents were afraid of white people.

The Debate

“Why do they want her there?” my dad asked in a stern voice tempered with concern. My mom responded with the best answer she could formulate, “Some white people don’t think it is wrong for people of different races to socialize.”

My dad countered with a point about how they both had been mistreated by whites all their lives. They agreed more information was needed from Robin’s parents before consent could be granted.

“I wonder if she goes if she will be the only Black girl there?” My mom uttered this question, and I could hear the fear in her voice. “How do we even ask these people something like that?”

My dad, at that point, sounded just as frightened and worried as my mom. Even though it would be difficult, they added it to their list of questions for Robin’s parents.

“If she goes, do we drop her off alone, or will one of us stay with her?” My mom’s voice was super pensive when she posed this question.

“If we decide to let her go, I will stay with her.” My dad was solid and unwavering when he made this statement.

The Verdict

My head hit the pillow that night without any knowledge of whether I could attend the party. My mom was going to call Robin’s mom the next day and pose her questions.

After my parent’s questions were answered to their satisfaction, I got the green light to attend the party. There was one condition; my dad would sit outside in his car during the duration of the event.

The Party

I was thrilled to see my friends outside of school. We played games, ate cake, and had a marvelous time!

No one treated me as a persona non grata at the party.

Today I think about the risk my father took by sitting in his vehicle in an all-white neighborhood for two hours in 1974!

My parents allayed their fears so that I could have an experience I truly desired.

To Conclude

I know that it was not an easy decision for them to let me go to the party. I am thankful they did because it helped me to work through issues I faced with my own child.

When I was sitting in my vehicle, waiting for my son in an all-white neighborhood for about 5 minutes in 2019, I felt uncomfortable.

I thought about my parents and faced my fears with a little more resolve. My parents laid the groundwork for me to be an effective parent open to my child, having a full range of life experiences.

Thanks for reading my story!