I love a good analogy, but, I’m sorry, this is not a good analogy

”Hmmmm. I’ve never thought about it like that”-Tom Cox, 1990

Tom Cox grew up in downtown Indianapolis in the early 60’s. He went to an integrated high school where racial tensions were high. Really high. He witnessed a lot of violence, anger and hatred. And, as a result of this life experience, he was a racist. His disdain for black people was obvious. You could see it in his eyes. He had a few black friends from the Army and at work, but these were exceptions, not the rule. People he got to know and developed a respect for over time. It wasn’t easy to break down that barrier.

He moved his family to the suburbs when his children were very young, because he did not want them to have that life experience. He had tried to explain his feelings to his daughter once. “I wanted to play basketball, but I never got to. The black guys and white guys never got along. So only the black guys got to play. They hated us and we hated them.”

To him it was simple. She never understood it. That‘s why on this 15th day of December, 1990, she was so nervous. She was about to say something she knew he very likely would not like. But, she decided it was worth the effort. “I can’t believe it. You’re two decades old today. You’ll catch me soon.”

It was her 20th birthday. He was forty-four. She didn’t think the math added up. “Sure I am. Thanks for lunch“

He had offered to meet her at a tiny pizza place in her home town and she decided to take him up on it. So she drove the thirty minutes from her dorm to let him buy lunch. “How’s school?”

”Good.“ Gulp. Did she have the guts to do it? “We talked about something interesting in my religion class today.”

”What’s that?”

Thick, stringy white cheese hung like a tether connecting his mouth and the slice of sausage, pepperoni pizza. “Uh. We talked about opportunity. How some people have more than others. Especially white people.“

He sat silently. But, he seemed to be listening. “It‘s kind of like a race. And some people get a head start.”

”What do you mean?”

”Well. Like me. I have lived In the same house since I was four. We bought it. I always had food to eat. I always had clean clothes to wear. I always went to the same school and my guidance counselor knew me and was always ready to help me if I needed help with scholarship applications or college questions. I have two parents who live with me and always took me to sports practices and church. Things weren’t always easy and I worked really hard, but I didn’t have to worry about a lot of things. I always knew they’d be there.”

”That’s true.”

”But, some kids have lived in lots of houses, or may not have a house at all. They might not always have food to eat. Or clean clothes. They might not have heat in the winter or warm clothes to wear. They might have gone to lots of schools and not really know any friends or teachers well enough to feel comfortable asking for help. They might not have one parent or any parents. They may not have played sports or clubs or music, because no one was willing to take them to practice. They might work hard, too. But, it’s difficult to really focus on homework or studying if you’re cold or starving.“

He was silent again. “So, if it were a race. I would have a head start. Even though I didn’t even know it. I wasn’t cheating. I was just lucky. Some people aren’t. And, statistically, some groups are luckier than others.”

He took another bite of pizza and nodded his head. “Hmmmm. I’ve never thought about it like that.”

And that, in a nutshell, is a good analogy. One that is relatable. One that is easy to visualize. One that makes people consider another way of thinking. One that impacts a person’s behavior in a positive, beneficial way. And, most importantly, one that is an actual reflection of truth. One that does not distort facts or lead someone down a wrong path. Because, I‘ve come to realize, worse than not knowing or understanding is thinking you do, when you really don’t. Thinking you‘ve become more enlightened when you haven’t. Moving from ignorant to misinformed is not helpful. For anyone. This is why writing and sharing is an awesome responsibility. Because, if I write something that is flawed and misinforms another, I haven’t helped anyone. Not my family, my friends, my community. No one. In fact, I could cause more harm than good. In three of the gospels, Jesus warns anyone who causes a little one who believes in him to stumble would be better off to have a millstone tied around their neck and drown in the sea. That is some imagery. And I consider it with every post I write. I don’t want a millstone around my neck. So I search God’s word, have multiple accountability partners and prayerfully consider every word I pen. I don’t want to cause anyone to stumble. That is the exact opposite of my goal-to educate, to encourage, to celebrate God’s goodness and grace In our lives. And that is why I feel compelled to make this point today. I love a good analogy, it is a powerful teaching tool. But a bad analogy, it’s dangerous. A bad analogy misinterprets information and misinforms it’s reader. And this leads to mistakes in thinking which lead to mistakes in actions. In other words, bad analogies cause people to stumble.

#millstone#idontwantone

There has been one particular analogy I’ve seen propagated on social media over the past few weeks. I understand it. It is very relatable. It’s easy to visualize. Based on comments I’ve seen, it’s caused people to consider another way of thinking.

So, based on what I wrote above, it seems like a good analogy. But, still, something just gnawed at me. Something didn’t seem right. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Until Wednesday. Then it hit me. I finally understood what was bothering me. And I felt led to share. Here’s the analogy. I bet you’ve seen it in some form. “Saying ‘All lives matter’ is like going into a breast cancer event and yelling out ‘All cancers matter.’ It’s insulting, because everyone there knows all cancers matter, but today is about breast cancer.”

I understand and appreciate why people have grabbed on to this analogy. Unfortunately, most people have been affected by cancer. They have received the diagnosis themselves or walked the painful, frightening road with a loved one. Many have attended fundraising and awareness events. So, it’s easy to picture. And no one would ever dream of doing it. No one would walk in to a breast cancer event and scream “All cancers matter.” It’s insensitive and ridiculous. It’s ridiculous because women suffering from breast cancer have empathy for those who are battling other forms of cancer. The treatments may not be exactly the same, but they are incredibly similar: chemo, radiation, surgery. And the emotions attached to the word “cancer” are the same: fear, anxiety, disbelief, anger. So a woman with breast cancer believes all cancers matter, because she can easily empathize, not sympathize, with other victims. Just as they can with her. And, those who suffer from other forms of cancer know their time of acknowledgement is likely to come on another day. Breast cancer pink out events dominate October. But prostate cancer awareness immediately follows with “no shave November.” So, they can wait patiently for their time to come without feeling compelled to infringe on someone else’s day. This, unfortunately, is not the case with the “Black Lives Matter” movement. On both sides of the coin, the empathy is missing and the expectation of future equal recognition is not a given.

And this is why people on both sides yell-they don’t believe they are being heard and they don’t believe they’re being treated fairly. I know this is true, because I found myself yelling during my lawn mower epiphany on Wednesday afternoon. I was frustrated and angry and passionate as I replayed, yet again, an event that happened four years ago. Because, I finally realized, it was the lack of empathy many of my white friends showed during that time that has continued to plague me ever since. I have briefly shared this story on my personal social media page before, but never here. And I think it’s important you hear it to truly understand my thinking. To have any hopes at approaching empathy, I think you need to know it all. My husband and I are white. Our three oldest children are biological and white. Our son-in-law is a young, white police officer. Our three youngest children were adopted, are biological siblings and black. They each came home from the hospital with us at birth. Our middle children are our youngest children’s older biological siblings. We are their guardians. They came to us as young teens. Our home is diverse and full!

Four years ago, my oldest white daughter was walking her three youngest black siblings, then 4,5 and 9 years old, to their elementary school. As they were crossing the parking lot, a young man we did not know was sitting in a high school class room and snapped a photo of them with his phone through the window. He then immediately posted it to social media with the caption “animal crossing.”

The post sat mostly undisturbed for the next few months. There were a few stray likes and “wow” emojis. But no comments calling out the behavior by his peers. Then, there was the post share by another young man with the heading “Savage, man. Just savage.”

Now, if you’re like me at the time, you might have thought savage was a bad thing. Brutal and cruel. But that’s not the case anymore. Today the term savage means “doing something courageous, awesome.”

So, by sharing the post with that comment, it was like saying, “Way to go. You had the courage to say something most people wouldn’t say out loud.”

Again, this share sat eerily quiet. No moral outrage by other students. No cries for social justice for three small black children walking to school. No chants of “Black Lives Matter.” Nothing. Just silence. Until my daughter’s friend had the courage to say something. She saw the posts and directed my 16 year old to them. She was outraged. Hurt. Scared. Betrayed. Especially when she realized she had been sitting in the same class, just a few seats down from the boy who took the original photo. She was not about to remain silent. My daughter contacted me immediately and told me where to find the posts. So I did. And I was immediately sick. There on both boys’ social media pages were my precious children skipping obliviously to school. They had no idea they were “animals.” They were so happy. It was one of their favorite days of the year. Grandparent’s Day.

All around them on the pages were images of confederate flags, KKK references and song lyrics about “bashing niggers’ heads in.” These young men had revealed their hearts. It was savage. In the truest sense of the word. I was beside myself. Emotions raged within me that I didn’t even know I had.

Profound bitterness toward the student body who had stayed silent for so long. Where were all of the students who supposedly had a heart for social justice? Why had they not immediately come to the aid of an adorable preschooler?

Sudden fear for my children’s well-being and a deep rooted maternal instinct to protect them. Animals? Think about what some people do to animals. Shoot them. Run over them with their cars. Put them in cages. I could not allow someone to treat my child like an animal. Strange sadness at the loss of my ignorant innocence that wanted to believe everyone loved my beautiful children. We live in a small community. My husband is the elementary principal. Everyone adored my kids. Didn’t they? Hatred and a desire for revenge against the perpetrators. One of my first real tastes of the righteous anger sometimes associated with being the mother of black children. I wanted them to pay. I didn’t understand what was going on in the world or within myself. All I knew for sure was I didn’t like this new reality and I needed for it to be addressed now. RIGHT NOW. We were granted a meeting with school administration that day. As I waited for the meeting, I had a chance to pray about the situation. And I decided, while it still sounded somewhat appealing, revenge was not the answer. Relationship was. Surely if the boys and their families met my kids, their hearts would be changed. We could fix this. We had to fix this. My children’s futures depended on it. After the meeting, the school conducted an investigation. As a result of the findings, both boys were sent to alternative school for the remainder of the semester. An invitation was given to the families to meet with us and a school assigned mediator. Both families refused. A student led campaign emerged with the slogan “FREE BRYAN”(name changed to protect his identity). And, upon return to school second semester, his peers promptly voted “Bryan” on to the Winter Homecoming Court. The entire series of events left me stunned and confused. What kind of alternative universe was I living in?

The answer was simple: a black one.

And when I tried to share my feelings, my questions, my fears with many of my white friends I received many unexpected responses.

”Try not to worry about it. Kids are just stupid.”

”You know how kids are. They can be mean.”

”You’re over-reacting. No one here would ever dream of hurting your kids.” “They got punished. What more do you want?”

”It’s not even really bullying, because your kids didn’t know about it.”

So I acquiesced. I allowed myself to be silenced. I shut up and stopped fighting for my children’s futures.

I now know, I failed them and society. Because, it was a battle worth fighting. Right there in my small community, I could have turned that terrible event into an opportunity to educate people about the evils of racism that obviously still exist.

But I didn’t. And I think that’s why I was yelling on the lawnmower. I finally found my voice. Those kids weren’t stupid, they were racists. Kids are “mean” to kids they know, they don’t routinely target unsuspecting preschoolers. I am not over reacting. There are people who have a desire to hurt my children simply because of the color of their skin. Yes, they got punished. But what I want is a heart change. I don’t believe those boys think any differently today. My family certainly never received an apology. And that’s incredibly disheartening. And finally, what do you want me to do? Show them the picture? Humiliate them? Make them afraid to go to school? Point out to my 4, 5 and 9 year old children that they will be unfairly targeted for the rest of their lives no matter what they do or how they live because they’re black and there‘s nothing they can do about it? By the time I was finished ranting my chest was heaving, I was covered in sweat and my heart was pounding. My jaw was clenched and so were my fists.

And what overwhelmed me the most was the lack of empathy I had felt during that time. The refusal to see this was not random stupidity or everyday meanness. The lack of acknowledgement of my very legitimate fears for my children’s safety. The general apathy regarding any need for societal change in direct juxtaposition with eager willingness to put a crown on an unrepentant head.

I was broken all over again. But this time, I refuse to be silenced. And it’s because of this I must call out this analogy. To everyone who read it and replied, “I finally understand.”

No. You don’t. Because this analogy ignores the very important fact that many black people do not truly believe white people understand their plight. Many don’t believe you really think their lives are important. Your empathy is not felt. And because of that you haven‘t earned the right to yell “All Lives Matter.” Because if you don’t definitively believe black lives matter, then by definition, you don’t believe all lives matter. The reverse is true as well. Many white people don‘t believe black people think their lives matter, either. Especially the lives of white police officers. Again, no perception of empathy. No perceived compassion for a family who loses a husband or a father in the line of duty.

No perception of fairness in media coverage. No belief that everyone will have their day to be heard and recognized. Therefore, no willingness to be patient and wait your turn. Sadly, until we learn to listen to hear and not just to respond, build new, uncomfortable relationships and sincerely display compassion and work to develop empathy for one another, we’ll never get past the yelling. My children’s and my son-in-law’s futures remain in peril.

For all of these reasons, this analogy does not hold up. It distorts the facts and is built on assumptions that are not true. It causes people to stumble. I’m sorry. This is just not a good analogy. But what about my first analogy? What ever happened to Tom Cox? Was his behavior changed in a positive way?

Yes. I believe it was. And, perhaps, that analogy played a part. Helped him to start thinking about things in a new way. How do I know? I know because Tom Cox was my dad. And he loved all of my children the minute he laid eyes on them. He didn’t have to get to know them. They didn’t have to prove their worth. He knew it was there all along. You could see it in his eyes.