BEING A WHITE GUY

I am a white guy who grew up in Los Angeles decades ago.  My high school was the only one in Los Angeles to have a blend of people of color, and white students. 

However, I only came to know my first Native American person when I was 26 years old.  I had been teaching in a Fresno, California high school when I noticed all the Black students were in one classroom, separate from others.  When I discovered the principal was segregating the students, I brought it to the attention of the State. 

 I was a first year teacher, having just turned twenty-three.  Before notifying the State, each of the twenty two teachers agreed to share what they knew to the investigators.  Officials arrived.  A hearing was held, and I was terminated.  Afraid of losing their jobs, none of the twenty-two teachers spoke up at the hearing.  

 The principal remained for another 10 years.  The unresolved segregation continued.  I was still 23 years old, had one wife and two small children, and in search of a new job.
 
Of course, the termination was a blessing.  Not only did I find a job, I became aware that some people will stand up for others, and some are not ready to.  I was hired to "counsel" Native Americans and coordinate a government sponsored project to allegedly train young native people (Indians) to be welders and electricians. 

 I had never known a Native person except in movies.  I had believed that "Indians" were all the things that "white people" were not.  Soon, I discovered the meaning and practice of the word Sacred.  Soon, I discovered the meaning of Relationship and family.  It was Linda Worldturner, a Lakota Sioux 18-year-old young woman who told me, "everything in life is about relationship."  

My life changed.  For three years, I learned to transcend all my learned beliefs about Native people and culture, and instead found "home."  I soon became an advocate, among the all-white staff, for the 200 students from many tribes around the country. 
 
That advocacy role was a natural one.  I knew my time at this project was limited, yet 
the job and income was secondary to advocate for fairness and justice.  No choice. 

By this time, I realized that my work in the world was to find ways to bring people together, to see the third side to things, and to practice seeing, not only through my own eyes, but the eyes of others as well.   



 

WHO CREATED WONDER?

When I was twelve-years old, and in the sixth grade, something  happened to me, "or for me".  Without my permission,  my spontaneous self wondered about stuff out loud.  It all started when I was sitting in the classroom, quietly wondering, not aware I was doing something that had a name.  Until that moment, I wondered all the time, but didn't have a language for it.

I never thought to wonder about wonder.  It's what we did, kinda like breathing.  I didn't think about breathing,  it just happened.  Same with wonder.  I mean, wonder has no limits.

One day, my silent thoughts innocently burst out into the classroom of thirty girl and boy twelve-year-olds., plus one teacher.  My silent secret wonder emerged in sound and words for everyone to hear.  Like breathing,  I wasn't attached to my words nor asking for a response.  I remember the words really well.  In the middle of an arithmetic lesson, like an uncontrollable tapping foot, and speaking to no one in particular, and with no pre-thought, my wonder filled the room:   

"There must be something more to being alive than going to school, getting grades, graduating, then going to another school...or not, then finding someone to live with,having children, going to a therapist, getting a divorce, getting cancer, then dying.  If that is all there is to being alive,it ain't very interesting." 

My sixth grade teacher stopped her lesson immediately, stared at me with an expression of disbelief.  “What did you say?” she asked in a tone of, what I interpreted as awe.  ,"Wow” I thought, “she must be interested in what I said, 'cause she asked me to repeat it."  I had a momentary flash that she was impressed with my observation.   I repeated my words best I could, this time with a little more volume:

"There must be something more to being alive than going to school, getting grades, graduating, then going to another school...or not, getting a job, then finding someone to live with. having children, going to a therapist, getting a divorce, getting cancer, then dying.  If that is all there is to being alive, it ain't very interesting."  This time, believing I had said a good thing, I added, "Actually, this also sounds meaningless and boring."

My teacher reacted differently than I expected.  She walked over to my desk, grabbed my arm tightly, and walked me down the long hall to the principal's office.  “He disrupted the class,” she said, and repeated some of  my words, out of context as I remember.  I was questioned, recommended for counseling, and sent home. 

 I’ve always wondered about everything.  I didn’t know I was wondering.  It just happened without my knowledge.  I assumed wondering was what brains and heads did.  No big deal.   I didn’t even have a name for wondering.   

Thoughts just emerged silently and spread throughout my everyday world of play, thinking and finding the Yes in those around me.  I wondered who created God.  Who created the creator of God?  I wondered why we are all here on this planet, how did we get here, who or what runs things?  Because I thought these things, I thought everyone else did too.  Seemed obvious to me that everyone would think or wonder these same things.  I mean, I did.