I Called My Sister the N-Word

I was seven years old, and we were tasked with folding all the family laundry. My older sister called “underwear!” the easiest piece to fold. I was infuriated at her since she always did this, leaving all the harder pieces to us, the younger sisters. Really, I was angry she called it before me, since that was my plan, so in essence, she beat me to it, and that’s what made me angry.

Fuming and without restraint, I called her the worst thing I could think of, the worst curse word I had ever heard, without any understanding of what the word meant: the “N-Word.”

It was as if time stood still: everyone’s mouths dropped, a deafening silence fell, and finally, my mother spoke in her quiet voice, which can be more dreadful than an angry, loud voice, because it means you are in extra trouble. She was beyond words, shocked, she said, “You can wait for your father to get home, and he will punish you.”

I don’t remember if I ever got the promised punishment, but the wait made up for it. While I sat in silence on a chair, waiting for my father, I remember feeling so ashamed. I didn’t know what the word meant, but I knew I had acted wrongly. I knew I said it to be mean and to upset her. When Dad came home, he quietly asked me why I said that. I told him. He asked what does it mean. I told him I didn’t know. In the simplest language, he explained, telling me was a hateful way to talk about black people, and that it’s a way to make them feel lower and make them remember when they were slaves. Mistreated, abused, sold. I felt so embarrassed and ashamed as my very best friend was black. I would never think such a thing! I whimpered my sorrow. He........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)