Wednesday, December 28, 2016

"Checking the box..."

Image result for checking the race box



When I was in high school, certainly not understanding the consequences of my actions, I "checked the box," identifying myself as black (The “label” wasn’t African American then…) when I took the PSAT (the preliminary SAT and qualifying test for the National Merit scholarship program).

I did well on the test, well enough, in fact, that my teachers expected that I would be entered into the National Merit Scholarship competition.  But instead I received a letter advising me that I had been entered into the National Achievement Program competition.  What is that, one might ask?  Well, that would be the National Merit Program recognition program solely for students of color.  

Some folks might call the National Achievement Program affirmation action at work, leveling the playing field for disadvantaged students.  But the "action" didn't feel very "affirmative" to me. With that one checked box, at age 14, I had a new definition of what it meant to be black in America: Separate, and clearly not equal.     

Soon thereafter, I read an essay by a black freshman at an Ivy League college, advising fellow black students not to “check the box.”  She, too, had made the mistake of checking the box when she had taken the SAT, and she had also had been entered into the National Achievement Scholarship Program, even though she had outperformed a white classmate who had been named a National Merit Scholarship winner.

From that experience, I learned what has been a valuable-for-me lesson: Never, never, never “check the box.”

When I took the SAT the following year, I didn't check the box. And as fate would allow, I got a second chance; my unwitting mistake from the PSAT didn't follow me.  This time around, I was entered into the National Merit Scholarship competition; later, I would be recognized as a National Merit Scholarship winner.  At least for that one moment, my worth had been determined not by the color of my skin, but by objective performance on a test.

I temporarily felt encouraged.

And so, as I began the college application process, I didn't check the box.  And as objectively as such things happen, with transcript, resume and National Merit ranking preceding me, I was invited in for scholarship interviews at all of the colleges to which I applied.

Of course, when I arrived for visits at these prospective colleges, it quickly became apparent to me that since I hadn't checked the box, and there hadn’t been any “dead giveaways” to the color of my skin, everyone assumed that I wasn't black - that is, until they saw me.  And I learned valuable-for-me lesson number two: Even the most loving and well-intentioned people who aren't black often carry around far too many stereotypes about people who are black that simply aren't true.

Case-in-point: When I applied to law school, I didn't check the box.  Without being the wiser, the law school chose to admit me solely on the objective basis of undergraduate grade point average (GPA) and law school admissions test (LSAT) scores.  I didn't realize at the time that the law school was still operating under a desegregation mandate; there was a mandatory quota for African American students for each year’s entering class.  So when I showed up, without having checked the box, I messed everything up.  In the law school's effort to increase retention among black students, we were automatically identified for additional course work in research and writing to improve our chances of success.  Everyone had been accounted for, except for me, and all of the names appeared on a list on the message board, with the date and time for the first of the mandatory sessions.  Since I hadn't checked the box, I wasn't on the list; but once the heads were counted, the folks in the law school admissions office who cared about the numbers realized that the numbers were off by one.

So, by the end of the first week, my name was added to the list, and the professor who was responsible for the study program hunted me down to inform me that my attendance was required at the next day’s mandatory study session. When I asked (nicely!) how I had come to be invited to this special study session, the professor muttered something about the law school's efforts to retain high-quality minority students.  Call me naïve, but what law school just assumes that all black students – regardless of their academic background or LSAT scores – are somehow in need of additional “help” in order to succeed? Clearly, the law school did not assume before identifying me as a black student that I needed additional coursework to help ensure my success. 

And so, I said no, for the same reasons that I hadn’t checked the box in the first place: I’d either make it – or I wouldn’t – on equal footing with other students. It may not have been the politically-correct course of action (Considering the number of phone calls that I received, I can only guess that no one in the law school's administration was happy with my decision.), but it was the only action that I could justify.


I don’t believe in “checking the box.” All of us should be greater than the sum of color labels that might be attributed to us. In my humble opinion, checking the box is a requirement that should be abolished in all academic admissions processes. There certainly must be better ways to ensure diversity and identify students who may need additional support in order to succeed. It is time for us to move toward judging one another by the content of our character – and not by the color of our skin.

Thursday, December 15, 2016

Help Wanted: Be the Light. Share the Light





A Christmas Eve from my childhood really stands out in my memory: I was maybe nine or ten years old when a mother of three young boys – the oldest of whom was about my age – was killed on Christmas Eve morning in my home town. She had stopped by a dry cleaner to pick up some cleaning, and as she was about to get in her own car to leave, the driver of another car lost control of her vehicle, and the mother was struck by the oncoming car as it plowed into the parking lot. Her three young sons were all in the car as this tragedy unfolded. The entire community was stunned by this family’s loss: Television shows were interrupted for a broadcast of the news, and even the news anchor was wiping away tears as he shared the story. We learned quickly that the family lived not far from us and worshipped at the Methodist church that was just a couple of blocks from our home.

For the next several days, I could think of little more than those young boys. Like Charlie Brown, in A Charlie Brown Christmas, I, too, was searching for the true meaning of Christmas at that point in my  life; I waited eagerly for the show to air each year, and watched it attentively, but even Linus’ impassioned speech still hadn’t helped me comprehend its meaning. And envisioning the sorrow in that nearby household left me at even more of a loss.

I finally asked my mother if I could take my allowance and buy the boys some cookies, just something to take to them to say that I was sorry for their loss, that lots of other kids were grieving with them, that even in the midst of all of the emptiness that they were experiencing, they were all still loved. My mother suggested that since we didn’t know the family, perhaps the best thing that we could do was pray; she felt certain that people who knew them had taken them more than they could use. I remember reading Luke’s account of the Christmas narrative before falling asleep, and offering prayers that the Christ Child would bring the best gift of all – healing – to the broken hearts of a grieving father and sons who were certainly expecting Christmas to be something very, very much different. My prayers, though, still didn’t feel like “enough.”

I’ve thought about those three young boys every year at Christmas. For them, and for others for whom Christmas may be a reminder of loss, it is especially important that the light of Christ be ever burning in our lives. Sharing that light of God’s promise of hope and love in a world in which there is far too much darkness is the best gift that we can offer to those who cannot see the light. Slowing down in the midst of the busyness of our lives to offer a smile, a hug, a phone call, a visit, a hand to hold, a word of encouragement, or time to share a prayer together – helps to remind us all of the One who came to dwell among us and bring healing and peace, and keeps the gift of the Light of Christ burning. 

Please look for every possible opportunity to share the light; and pass on the light that is shared with you. God is counting on us all.

Said the king to the people everywhere,
“Listen to what I say!
Pray for peace, people everywhere!
Listen to what I say!
The Child, the Child sleeping in the night,
He will bring us goodness and light!
He will bring us goodness and light!”
From “Do you hear what I hear?” (lyrics by Noël Regney)