Affirmative Action

On February 25, 1987 the Supreme Court decided United States vs. Paradise. The ruling upheld the use of racial quotas in the Alabama Department of Public Safety. This decision opened the door for quotas to be used as an acceptable tool for promoting equality for minorities and women.

Meanwhile in Maine, which is statistically the "whitest" state in the union, I was born. Shielded from the strife of politics and race relations, racism and discrimination were things that I only learned of in books. It wasn't until I went to summer camp when I was 12 that I came into contact with people who were not white. I roomed with some African American girls from Boston, but everyone was so nice to them that I began to think that discrimination was just a myth.

My Grandmother helped me to see otherwise. She was what you would describe as an "old school Mainer". She had a thick accent devoid of R's and had lived in the same town her entire life. She had strong convictions and was never afraid to share them with you. But what made her different from most Mainers (and from most people her age) was her keen sense of equality. She was a staunch supporter of women's rights, which I found out the hard way when I confessed to her just a few months after my 18th birthday that I had not registered to vote. I was in Maine for my freshman year of college and she drove to campus and demanded that I fill out the necessary paperwork immediately. When I told her that I would eventually get to it, I incited a tongue lashing about how women today don't appreciate the rights their foremothers had labored so tirelessly for. Needless to say, I registered.

This past summer I returned to Maine for my Grandfather's funeral. Instead of staying in a hotel, my family was invited to stay in a 100 year old house down the street from my Grandmother's, lovingly dubbed the "Christmas house". It earned that nickname as it was completely decked out in Holiday attire year round. The woman who owned it had another house next door that she lived in, and so this house was used to suit her obsession with Christmas. I marveled at her kindness. She barely knew my family, but she seemed so eager to help. Although I never saw her, she made sure we had clean towels and told us (via my Grandmother) that if we needed anything, all we had to do was knock. One evening I questioned my father about our mysterious hostess.
"Why is she being so nice? Is it just because she's friends with Grandma?"
"It's more than that" he explained, "When I was little, her family was the only black family in town. And well, you know how Maine is. And it was even worse back then. Everyone snubbed them. Except your Grandma, who was always visiting and bringing over pies and stuff, even though people gave her a lot of flack for it. So I think this is her way of thanking your Grandma."

I had never been so honored to sleep in such an eccentrically dilapidated old house. It had character and that's all that matters.