Sometimes we take a knee

I used to watch NFL every Sunday. Because we didn’t have a team really near us at the time, I grew up with really only 3 choices in teams to follow: Washington Redskins, Atlanta Falcons, or Dallas Cowboys. These teams were defined by their players. Because of William “the Fridge” Perry, who played at Clemson,  I went outside the box and became a fan of the Chicago Bears. I followed them for years admiring the work of Perry, Walter Payton, Jim McMahon, and Mike Singleton. Then motherhood and career “sidelined” my NFL following. When the Rosebros were little, Sundays were spent at church, Wade’s lunch, and playing at Happy Hallow Park most of the day. When the boys were older, I used Saturdays to catch up on school work (either principal or course work) meaning Sunday was church, grocery shopping, and laundry day. In the meantime the NFL went on and it changed. Players switched teams often looking for larger contracts and bigger paychecks. It became less about teamwork and more about individual glory. Players nor coaches define teams as they change so often it is hard to keep up. Jerseys of favorite players cost almost $100 and in one year may not even be accurate. Even attending a game is outrageously expensive making it almost impossible for a “regular” family to attend. Therefore being a fan of the NFL is no longer a part of who I am yet as the Rosebros have gotten older they have become huge fans of NFL football.

Then last week, the NFL made huge headlines. I was quiet on the subject of kneeling during the National Anthem not wanting to offend anyone. The Rosebros were discussing this at dinner and I sat and I listened as my two white teenage boys who have not suffered from any segregation or prejudice debated the subject. Their father is a veteran. They’ve been taught the value of our country’s ideals. From an early age, they were taught the Pledge of Allegiance, the National Anthem, and even the Star Spangled Banner. Not only were they taught the words, they were taught the meanings. Yet, my boys have also been taught many other things along the way. They’ve been taught people matter regardless of what they look like, what their last name is, or what their address is. They’ve been taught you love people for who they are. Rosebro1’s first girlfriend was black. Her mother and I both joked about how it didn’t matter to us but both of our families would be bothered. Rosebro2 probably has more friends who are African American than he does who are white but I really am not counting because I do not keep note of this type of thing. And yet as I listened to them debate, I felt a sense of overwhelming pride and immediate guilt. My boys seem to have stronger opinions on the subject than I do. My boys seem to understand civic responsibility better than me. So while I am so happy that I haven’t failed them, I seem to be failing myself.

Then Saturday as we were watching 4 different football games-all at once- we watched as a player was hurt and hurt badly. Cameras zoomed in on the cheerleaders-all on a knee-then to both teams-all on one knee. One of their own was hurting and they took a knee. They took a knee. They took a knee because someone was hurting. 

As if a sign I needed, a friend, an African American friend, called me about this same time. She was returning my call from earlier in the day when I called her to tell her about an encounter I had had at a store on Saturday morning. As we laughed and she detailed how she “would have my back”, I realized that she was right. She would have my back. If I needed something, she would be the first one there. She would fight for me if necessary. I would guess that our sisterhood is so strong that she would probably die for me. Yet, I’ve been silent.  I’ve been silent. There is this constant fear of saying the wrong thing, alienating friends-both white and black, or making the situation worse.  Truthfully, I am very likely to say the wrong thing. So I am silent. My silence tells my friends, my colleagues that I do not care about their pain.  It tells them that I love them as long as I do not have to take a stand or pick a side.  Silence speaks so loudly and tells my black friends that I do not love them or value our friendships or relationships enough to fight for them or stand beside them.  And that disappointment and sense of betrayal hurts. It hurts my friends and it hurts me to know I’ve hurt others.

So, I don’t know what the right thing to say is. I know that I love our country and I love that our freedoms allow us the right to protest peacefully which is what these NFL players are doing. I know that just like taking a knee when a player is hurt, these players are taking a knee for a country that is hurting. Being black in America is not something I can pretend to understand. I have had conversations with my African American friends and mentors about this but it is like most experiences-you can sympathize, listen, but not really understand because you've not fully experienced it. Yet by dismissing the fears and anger of those who are not us is damage. So I vow to listen. I vow to talk. I vow to have those conversations that may make me uncomfortable, may make others upset with me, may help me learn, and just possibly may make me better. When we take time to listen and then take time to share what we learn, we can begin to heal hearts and make changes.

Our schools are diverse. We have children of all different races, socioeconomic levels, religions, and cognitive abilities. We also have students who are hurting.  Some are hurting because they don’t understand the pain of those like them that they hear about from their parents, the news, even their friends. We have some who are hurting because of so many other issues. Yes, our job is to teach ELA, Math, Science and Social Studies, but our job is listen. We listen when our students need us. We listen to understand not to be understood. We listen. Sometimes we take a knee, look in the eyes of our children, and listen. Sometimes, we just take a knee.