Finished Kathryn Stockett's book, 'The Help', this afternoon and it wore me out. Being that it's about the black/white racial situation in the American South in the 1960's, and being that I've lived my entire life here, parts of it were difficult to swallow. Not out of guilt, but out of the magnitude of the stories. Part of me gets angry at automatically feeling responsible for things that occurred when I was a child, and part of me is sympathetic for things *just because*.
To be honest, it's hard to live in a city that's never been able to get past the assassination of Martin L*uther King because this is where it happened (I was nine years old at the time). There's a constant stigma here, and there's no getting to the other side of it. Reminders are continual, not as a way of growth, but a thorn in the side. And I'm not exaggerating. It's just the way it is.
As to the book, it tells the stories of 3 women, 2 are black maids in white households and the third is young white woman who wants to write a book telling about their lives from the black perspective. The thing is, we had a maid in our house when I was young. Our neighbors across the street did as well, but none of us were well off. These women were hired to do housekeeping and that was about it. They were just another pair of hands. There wasn't any back-biting, but just gratefulness for someone to share the work load. In contrast, the white women in 'The Help' were, for the most part, hateful and ignorant. I didn't know women like that when I was growing up. But, then again, I never heard of the opinions of the working conditions of the housekeepers who worked for my parents, now, did I?
I remember getting into a conversation with my mother-in-law about my mom having help when I was young, and even earlier on when my older brothers were tiny. My MIL gave me a surprised look and asked why my mom did that. I answered her that it was common here, and not that big a deal. My husband and his family come from the North, and apparently that wasn't done up there. I was totally naive in talking about it, figuring that hiring a maid was common practice everywhere. I even brought this up to my husband, the other day, asking if he remembered the maids waiting for the buses at the end of the work day. Seems every one of them carried similar things, like a paper sack of a change of clothes and an umbrella. He just shook his head no to me. Up North, it wasn't part of his life at all.
The book is an eye-opener, but it would pay to be reminded that all of the whites down here aren't like the majority of those in the book. Some of us come from simple farming families who are trying, just like the next person, just to get it done. My ancestors never had much, and I know they never owned plantations, or slaves either. It just gets tiring to be treated as a group *at large* who did. I think the judging part of life, be if from the black or white angle gets tiresome.
I only want to raise my kids and be left alone, but as long as I live here, the racial situation will continue to shout at me to listen. It's not a comfortable topic, but will definitely never go away, and I'm pretty sure it shouldn't.
