Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: White (10/29/09)
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TITLE: The Colour of White | Previous Challenge Entry
By Lynne Eliason
11/04/09 -
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It was the fabric of my childhood. Papa would put on his crisp white shirt that Mama had starched and ironed with great care. He’d straighten it just so and fasten his slightly tarnished cufflinks that belonged to my Grandpa Tater. Standing at the old gilded mirror from Grandma Sassy that hung by our front door, he’d adjust his blue silk tie to perfection. After putting on his suit coat of grey wool, daddy would always wink at me. Next he’d take my hand and we’d walk to the bus stop. On the way, he’d tell me stories about Jesus. I think every lesson I ever learned from childhood was during our walk to catch the Saginaw Street bus.
Daddy and I would always sit in the back of the bus. He said it was because the best seats were in the back. We didn’t talk much on the ride. I could hear him softly humming songs from church like “Go Tell It On The Mountain.” Every now and then he’d pat me and smile. When the bus would get to St. Ignatius School, Daddy and I would walk into my school room hand in hand. Sister Agnes Grace would always welcome us and cross herself. All you could see of her face were pretty little brown eyes beneath that silly hat. Daddy would nod his head and leave quickly, walking the rest of the way to his job. He loved working at Mr. Lippett’s grocery store and said it made him “credible.” He didn’t work in the alley anymore, but was promoted to waiting on customers because he was fair and honest. That’s why he wore a white shirt.
Mama would put on her own starched white dress with a black apron and walk to the Endicott House. She was a maid and worked hard, but she said it was so that I wouldn’t have to wear that white dress. I never did understand why you would wear a white dress if you were cleaning house anyway. I think she should have been a nurse.
At the end of the day we had happy times. Mama would make a fine supper, sometimes with fried chicken and her famous apple pie. Daddy would tease and say we ate apple pie because we were Americans. Then he would read from his Bible. He didn’t even need to look at it. He knew the words so well. I’d go to bed each night with those words floating in my head. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
If I earned really good grades on my report card, Daddy would take me to the movie on a Sunday afternoon. We could only go at a certain time. Again, Daddy said it was because the best seats in the house were then. I can still remember the popcorn, the lights, the music, the laughter. Daddy would laugh out loud. He always wore his best brown sweater to the movies - over that white shirt - but no tie. I loved it when Daddy didn’t wear a tie.
I went away to college. Mama cried and Daddy sighed, but they said it was because they were so happy. My new world was a sea of color, attitudes and all. White no longer meant shirts and maid uniforms. It became people. I then knew that my parents had protected my childhood from prejudice and segregation. I didn’t see the difference in the skin tones, only the best in each person’s heart. That led me straight to the love of my life, although William was white.
On my wedding day, I was the one wearing white. Both Mama and Daddy shed simple tears of joy, but I knew they were each concerned. I wasn’t. I knew the love William and I shared would overcome color. We’d blend. We’d show the world it could be done. As I walked down the aisle on Daddy’s arm, I praised God for leading us to each other.
Today, as I get ready for my own job as a school teacher I wear red or purple or teal. I hug and scoot our three children out the door to their school bus at our front door. William, now wearing the white coat, blows me a kiss as he scurries off to work. He’s a doctor for all people. We do have a maid. She wears blue.
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