My Story

Shared by Linda Lulli

During my childhood I often wondered why my grandparents didn't have anything to do with my family and why at holiday gatherings, some of my aunts and uncles would join together with us for family celebrations and others would not. It wasn't until I was in my teens that my mother explained to me that she had been Catholic and when she married my father, who was Protestant, she was disowned by her parents. I couldn't believe that because of religious differences, I didn't get a chance to have a relationship with my grandparents or learn about my French Canadian heritage and traditions from them. As I got older, I came to realize how difficult it must have been for my mother to experience bigotry within her own family. My brother and I were taught, within our church and by my father, to respect others, regardless of any differences, and consequently were more likely to recognize similarities in others, rather than differences.

What has always been a puzzle for me is how my mother, who had experienced bigotry first hand, could be so intolerant of others. I tried to understand why she felt the way she did, but she would only say that she had had bad experiences with "black people" and I should avoid them

When my son brought his girlfriend to Thanksgiving Dinner one year, he asked me to meet him outside in our porch and explained to me that his girlfriend was in the car. He wasn't sure how his grandmother would react to the fact that his girlfriend was Cape Verdean and dark skinned. I told him she was welcome in our home, and I would speak to his grandmother before having him bring her into the house to ensure that she was treated respectfully. While my mother wasn't comfortable with his choice of girlfriend and didn't have much to say to her, she has over the years, learned to appreciate her as a person.

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