Empty Threat
It was a stressful morning at “The Happiest Place on Earth.” The lines were long, and the tempers were short. Although it was still morning, the heat was already sweltering, and the air was thick with the bedlam of manic kids and the already-frayed nerves of beleaguered parents. And this was just waiting to buy a ticket.
My family — parents, siblings, and I — had woken up early that day to make the expedition from Los Angeles to Anaheim in our station wagon. Brimming with excitement, we trekked our way through the never-ending parking lot toward the grand entrance. We ever-so-slowly snaked our way toward the turnstile. The anticipation was excruciating. Then, just beyond the bars of the front gate, we finally caught our first magnificent glimpse: Lo and behold, The Magic Kingdom!
But thwarting our passage into the Promised Land was The Chaos Family: three unruly youngsters and two haggard parents. The oldest kid — he looked to be about seven, maybe a couple of years younger than I — was being particularly rambunctious. His arms, legs, hands, and mouth all seemed to be traveling in different directions simultaneously. (And this was years before ADD had become all the diagnostic rage.)
The mother was clearly on her last nerve. In sheer desperation, she snapped, “If you don’t behave, we are not going to Disneyland!” The kid froze in his tracks and locked eyes with his mother…for all of about one second. During that momentary sliver of time, it was truly remarkable how much that kid conveyed without ever uttering a single word: “Yeah right, Mom.” “Oh, this again.” “How stupid do you think I am?” “That’s pathetic.” “Did somebody say something?” He then promptly returned to his business of being an out-of-control, unruly kid — as if the exchange never even happened.
Once I became a parent myself, I grew to have much more empathy for that poor mother. I now know what it’s like to feel utterly desperate, frenzied, and powerless. But I also
understand — even somehow admire — her kid’s reaction. In his eyes, she had long since lost all credibility. And with it, his respect. Empty threats are worse than none at all. And that brief but powerful look he shot her…I never want to be looked at like that. Sadly, however, it really doesn’t matter what I want. Being a parent, you somehow just find a way to get used to it.
Life Lesson:
Empty threats are worse than none at all.
White versus Black. Black versus White. It was the late 1960s, and Morningside High School was undergoing the growing pains of racial integration. Although the fires of the 1965 Watts riots — located just a few miles to our east — had been doused years before, our school was still smoldering with racial tension. Stresses and strains permeated the campus. Walking through hallways could be hazardous. Restrooms were rife with hidden dangers. Heated interracial fistfights would spontaneously erupt in the quad lunch area, with spectators feverishly rooting for their favored combatant — based solely on skin color.
But for one week that fall, things felt…different. We were about to face off in our annual football game against our cross-town rival to the north: Inglewood High. This promised to be more than your typical “rah-rah” game of high school football, however. You see, Inglewood High didn’t have a single black student. And that fact held profound meaning that was not lost on any of us at Morningside.
That week, as if by magic, interracial boundaries at our school were dissolving, ousted by a newfound sense of shared purpose and meaning. Black and white students were now smiling and chatting with each other. Rancorous disputes were replaced with enthusiastic conversations. The sounds of Sly and the Family Stone’s “Everyday People” reverberated through the halls and permeated our souls.
The night of the Big Game, the atmosphere at the stadium was teeming with the aroma of hotdogs, popcorn, and hope. We were galvanized and we were mighty. Colors had been realigned: No longer was there segregation of black and
white — only unity under the red and white banner of our beloved Morningside Monarchs. The racial divide had been bridged by a collective purpose against a common foe. The stakes couldn’t have felt higher — for we were rooting not just for our team on the field, but also for racial harmony within our school and across the land.
From the opening kickoff, we fought hard. We fought tough. We fought close. And we lost. We lost.
Honestly, the game was played fair and square — we simply got beat by the better team. The final score was right; but the final outcome was so wrong. Deeply wrong. Symbolically wrong. Morally wrong. If this were a just world, we would have emerged victorious. But for us, there was to be no justice…only bitter defeat.
Shell-shocked and disillusioned, we numbly filed out of the stadium, our collective hearts shattered into a million splinters. And adding to the misery of that wretched night, we were forced to endure the spectacle of our opponents’ jubilant celebrations spilling out from their stands and onto the field. Had this been a movie, it would have been an absolutely rotten ending.
Of course, it was tempting to demonize the students at Inglewood High as somehow being the enemy of racial tolerance. But that simply wasn’t the case. I actually had a number of friends who went there, and I knew that they were good, decent people (I mean, as much as your typical teenager could possibly be). No, the kids at Inglewood were just high school students — like us — who happened to be on the winning side of a lousy football game.
Over the next week, a sense of emptiness and despair was palpable across Morningside High. Sure, we’d all heard the adage that “life isn’t fair” over the span of our relatively short lifetimes. From almost our first moments of consciousness, everybody is exposed to a never-ending barrage of unfairness — whether at home, school, or play. But this was an exceptionally gut-wrenching reminder. For this was not just your sister getting a bigger slice of cake, or you not getting selected for the school play; no, this was a direct assault on the very concept of moral justice.
Nevertheless, having the camaraderie of others who were experiencing the same feeling was a salve that somehow helped to soothe our pain. And slowly, time began to heal the wounds. I can’t say that it mended all racial divides. But there was noticeably less tension and fewer conflicts around the school. We were scarred and deflated, but now bonded — through the agony of a shared defeat. Hard times can forge stronger ties than cheerful times.
Oh, and by the way, a few weeks later, Morningside squared off against another non-integrated high school — this one from an affluent area on a hill several miles to our south. During this contest, many students in their crowd were less than civil. They taunted us with verbal insults and Confederate flags. I don’t actually recall the score; but I do remember that we pummeled the snot out of them. That conquest — at least for that one night — felt like unfairness had been vindicated. (And it would have made a much better ending for a movie…)
First, together in defeat; now, together in victory. Life is not fair, but it’s easier in unity. “Power to the people, right on!”
Life Lesson:
Life isn’t fair —
but it’s easier with
companionship.
