THE SERVED AND THEY WHO SERVE. Pt. 2

(Read Pt. 1 prior to reading this segment)

Speaking of ‘two faces…’

In a previous story I alluded to having administered a DNA test to my mother, only one week before she left us; the results which have only just now been made available to me.

As I scrolled through the results of the test, my eyes fixed on one minute bit of information.

While the large majority, 98.2 percent, of my mother’s ancestors, hailed from Great Britain and Western Europe, 1.8 percent originated …in Sub-Saharan Africa, and more specifically, Western Africa; from whence multiplied millions of hapless and helpless men and women, boys and girls began their unwilling journey to the Americas, and the forced labor, oppression and humiliation which awaited them there. (Interestingly enough, the State of Mississippi observed 'The One Drop Rule' into the 70's; in which anyone who had the slightest trace of African-American heritage was regarded as such. And even more interesting, at least in terms of an implication of how I might have been classified, is that while I was involved in my military training, I lived and served for a short time in Mississippi during that era).

Two faces

Eugene Allen, the real life character upon which “The Butler” was based, found himself, during his lifetime, among them who served. It was only after he was, unexpectedly, provided the opportunity to “sit with royalty” that he was afforded the privilege of being served; (which, subsequently, cast his servers in a light to which he had never before been privy).

Two faces

I, on the other hand, have lived out my entire lifetime as a member of a racial group who, perhaps, think of themselves as they who “sit at the table.” Granted, as an adolescent I witnessed the cessation of “separate, but equal,” public schools, segregated transportation, and white and black water fountains, restrooms and restaurants.

My siblings and I grew up as members of what might have, at that time, be characterized as the upper middle class. At least we had a maid, a beloved old, (or so it seemed to me at the time) black woman named, Etta Ponder.

I have, admittedly, “sat at the table.”

The served, and they who serve.

My friends, I can tell you that the realization that one of my distant grandfathers or grandmothers was African-American, and endured the rigors and humiliation of a voyage across the Atlantic Ocean, and delivered into the bonds of slavery has cast a new light on the privileged position I have thus far enjoyed.

And as a result, I have experienced something rather akin to the unique circumstance of which our humble server was afforded; as he sat among ranks of the served.

However, I think the diametrical opposite played itself out here.
For you see, I, if only in my imagination, and for the briefest of moments, found myself among the ranks of them who serve.

Two faces

(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 37. By William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending.

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