I have a mystery. But it has a backstory you need to hear first.

If you’ve been following me for some time, you know I moved to West Virginia from Colorado to care for my elderly aunt who was living alone on the family farm. We tried it out for ten rather long and, dare I say, miserable weeks for both of us. She was a strong willed, independent woman who expected you to do what she said, when she said it. I’m not the type to take orders well, so when she invited me to leave on Christmas Day, I took myself on a totally different adventure for the following couple of years. 

I didn’t realize it at the time, but Aunt Peeps was slipping into the netherworld of dementia which caused her to lose what little bit of a filter she had to begin with. Still, I had wonderful conversations with her over the years. If she liked you, she would do anything to help you achieve your dreams. She admired hard work and perseverance. She was a teacher…erudite and proper. 

I remember when I was very young, she came to visit with photographs from Cleveland and Washington, DC. Grainy black and white snapshots depicting water fountains and lunch counters with signs over them that said “Whites Only”. I didn’t understand what that meant and she carefully explained racism to me in words a little girl might comprehend. She was quite adamant…as was my grandma…that we never, ever treat other’s differently. We are all God’s children.

I grew up poor. Not dirt poor. Not welfare poor. But we didn’t have a lot of extras and ate from grandma’s garden quite a bit. I married my high school boyfriend and escaped what I felt at the time was the hell of West Virginia. When that marriage failed, I ended up marrying a young physical therapist who was heading into medical school. As our affluence increased, we rose higher and higher on the white privilege scale. Five years after that marriage ended, I met Mr. Virgo. He had worked his entire career in the hospitality industry at numerous Five Star resorts and restaurants around the world. So I was still in the realm of privilege. I had a housekeeper and a full length blue fox coat and a new car every couple of years. 

I don’t believe I’ve ever been overtly racist, but there were many years where I just didn’t really give the struggles of ethnic communities much thought. And that is the essence of what is referred to as white privilege. With the onset of civil unrest over racial disparities, I have taken it upon myself to learn as much as I can on the subject so that I can better understand the plight of People of Color. I want to be a better human.

After Aunt Peeps died, my uncle came to the farm to get some of her papers that he needed to settle her estate. These papers were in boxes in the closet upstairs in her bedroom. The next time I was out there, I went upstairs and there were a few items on the bed. There was also a day bed up there with several boxes of my own things. I didn’t notice anything of any import that day.

Last weekend, when I was out there working on the taxes, it was so bloody hot and the air conditioner was not working. I went upstairs to turn the fan on in the bedroom opposite hers. As I was coming back out of the room to the top of the stairs, I glanced into Aunt Peeps’ room and noticed something I hadn’t seen before. There were two books laying neatly stacked on the pillow. I would have sworn they weren’t there before.

I went in and picked up the books and my jaw dropped.

“The Autobiography of Malcom X” by Alex Haley.

“Black Boy” by Richard Wright.

Two seminal literary works about the black experience in this country. Not at all the kind of books I saw my aunt reading as I grew up or when I lived with her. And certainly not anything I had ever seen there before. Where did they come from? Who placed them so carefully where I would be sure to find them? I have no idea. But I picked them up and smiled, tucked them neatly under my arm, and have set a goal to read them both to better understand.

Ever the educator. Ever the fair-minded yet fierce educator. I believe my Aunt Peeps left me a gift…exactly the gift I needed at exactly the right time.

She teaches…still.

❤️

“For God does not show favoritism.”

Romans 2:11 NIV