On the Bus
| These times invite us to reflect on how we were raised, and the history that has formed us. In this poem, Victor Fein explores his first memories of racism, taught to him as a child on an unfamiliar journey. May we continue to listen to each other’s stories, as we seek the Spirit to lead us into truth. -Renée They weren’t Raised that way they didn’t know they weren’t raised that way two young boys wave good-by to dad split homes call for the unusual they board the Greyhound to be with mom for the summer traveling from yankee to confederate country right to the back of the bus those days blacks only sat back there they didn’t know they weren’t raised that way surrounded by dark skinned folks greeted with open arms open hearts hours later entering the south a dinner stop exiting the bus their new elder friends informed them they had to separate a smile then a pointed finger showed the boys the way one sign read Whites only another read Colored only even the water fountains bore bold signage they didn’t know they weren’t raised that way never had grits before lying over everything like volcanic lava couldn’t eat em separate them push them to the side whites over here blacks over here back on the bus sitting with friends once more puzzled by current events nighttime now bobbing his head in and out of sleep the lady next to him signaled for his bobbing head to lie on her lap he accepts he didn’t know he wasn’t raised that way Victor Fein 2019/2020 For more stories of the Fein boys’ childhood experiences of discovering racism, read Vern Fein’s article My Introduction and Response to Discrimination in On the Journey. |