Guess Who's Coming to Dinner? - Personal Insights for Black History Month

My actual first seat at the table was dinner with my high school friend and her racist dad

Growing up in a predominantly black neighborhood in Columbus, Ohio (Hello Rainbow Park) and moving to a predominantly white neighborhood to attend and graduate high school (shouts to my Walnut Ridge High School friends), you learn to adapt to a lot.

Our high school was very diverse, so I had friends of various racial and ethnic backgrounds. Never a shortage of people to hang out with, including one special white girl, Paula (name changed to protect the innocent). Although we were the same age, she was a bit more mature than I. She also had interests in things I did not - like smoking, getting high, and drinking. Still, we became very good friends.

She'd tan in the yard, and I'd sit in the shade reading or chatting it up with her from afar. Her mom was so very nice and welcoming when I'd come by or when she'd come and pick Paula up from my house, but I was never allowed in their house. I thought it was because she couldn't have company. She eventually told me it was because her dad was racist.

Why were we friends? She was stupid crazy, and we'd laugh on end about stupid stuff. I was getting a life education through her, and she felt accepted by me. My parents loved Paula but hated the idea that I was friends with someone whose dad was so racist I wasn't permitted in the house.

It didn't seem to interfere with our friendship.

Then one day, her mom had enough and invited me to dinner. Imagine the screaming and yelling that took place at both our homes over this event. I accepted - over my parent's dead bodies. There were no cell phones in those days, so my dad parked outside and waited.

Paula told me that her dad might say the "N" word out of spite, but not to worry, her mom would handle him (she was shorter than I was). I was scared to death. But for some reason, I felt the need to do this. Of course, I also thought I'd die that night. What the heck was I thinking?

The evening went well; no "N" words dropped, and after an hour of idle chit chat, dinner was over, and I didn't die. Our friendship continued through 12th grade and I spent many days inside her house. Her dad continued to have his racist points of view but found a way to make me feel welcomed in the house.

About a year after high school, I was working my first job at JC Penney in the catalog department. Paula and I were still friends, just plugging away at life. Then one day, her mom said she wanted to talk to me. She said, "Pam, I have a job opportunity for you. It does require a degree, and I'll probably catch hell for hiring someone without a degree, but I figure if you can handle my racist husband, you can handle this job." The job was working as a medical records clerk and social work assistant in a long-term care facility. It definitely required a degree, but she told the Executive Director, Director of Nursing, and Medical Records Consultant about me, and after meeting them, they unanimously agreed to hire me, provide me with training, and pay me fairly (Paula's mom saw to that).

Later I’d realize just how much that first dinner experience would prepare me for many future “seats” where I would be marginalized, underestimated, and treated unfairly at times. Throughout those experiences, I'd become emotionally stronger and more resilient with each encounter.

I also came to understand that not all White people are racist, and that in supporting me and countless other people of color to achieve our goals, that they often experience personal and professional backlash.

Now, today, as I stand feeling world-tested and battle-ready, I am humbled by the thought of what my life might have been had I so said “no” to Paula’s dinner invite?