This week I worked on an essay based on my experience of growing up in the ’60s in my Southern town of Sanford. That personal account focused on the changes between 1965 and 1971, my 5th – 10th grade years when we experienced integration. I’ve written about that time at different points in my life and have come to a greater understanding of how we were impacted by what was going on around us.

Monday we’ll be observing the Martin Luther King Jr. Day and my grandsons will be off from school and staying with me. They live in a much different world from the one their “Grammy” grew up in. Now, they are going through times of strife hearing snippets about Border patrols and ICE coming into cities across the US. My older grandson, Baker’s 2nd grade class has had their field trip to a Raleigh museum postponed twice because of the impact of ICE being in that city.

I didn’t understand what was going on when I was in elementary school. Walter Cronkrite anchored the evening news, speaking in a calm, authoritative manner as images of racial unrest and the Vietnam War filled our black-and-white television screen. Talking with others, both Black and White, has helped me to gain a better understanding of what was happening then.

One conversation stands out in my mind. I was in my mid-thirties and working as a Psychiatric nurse on an inpatient Adolescent Unit in Burlington. I was the nurse in charge that day of our locked 16-bed unit, responsible for the schedule and staff assignments. The patients who were more stable were allowed to go off the unit for activities with close supervision. That day, the plan was to play ball at an athletic field several blocks away from the hospital. The Recreation therapist would be leading the activity and I had to assign nursing assistants to help.

The hospital was located next to an established neighborhood on a well-traveled road. The teenage patients had to be reliable for staying with the group walking on the sidewalk. I was working on the assignment at the table in our break room and Eric, a Black nursing assistant, around mid-twenties came in the room. We’d worked together for a while and I liked his calm manner and ability to read situations.

I told Eric I’d assigned him to be 1:1 with the boy who was much improved since the early part of his admission when he had angry outbursts. He’d had a history of running away before he was hospitalized. The boy’s psychiatrist judged him to be ready for the outing since he would be discharged the next week.

“I don’t think that’s gonna work,” Eric replied. “What will happen if he takes off running down the street? If I try to catch him and put him in a therapeutic hold, those people will call the cops on me.”

We looked at each other and his words slowly sank in. The residents of that White neighborhood would see a Black man chasing a White boy–not knowing the situation. Eric, and all our psychiatry staff, had been trained in Therapeutic Hold, which was the standard technique for keeping a patient safe without applying too much force. Staff maintained that hold until the patient calmed down to a point that he wasn’t a danger to self or others or until staff reinforcement arrived to help.

“I hadn’t thought about it that way,” I told him. “I see your point.”

I assigned the patient to a White male assistant, even though he had less experience than Eric. Fortunately, the outing took place without incident and I was relieved when all the patients and staff made it back to the unit safely.

After that, I would remember how important it was to hear that other person’s perspective. I could not possibly know what it was like to walk in their shoes. I respected Eric because we’d worked together and I knew he was intelligent and caring. He even had a great sense of humor.

One day, when I was sitting at that table in our break room, eating the lunch I’d packed, I was lost in thought eating a chicken thigh. I wasn’t aware that Eric had come in the room and stood watching me.

“You’re gonna get all that meat off that bone, aren’t you?” he said and laughed. I was embarrassed but then thought how comical it must look to him, that nurse in charge gnawing away at a chicken bone! How humbling, how humiliating, how nice to share that humorous moment with Eric.

What a rich experience, working with Eric who was one of the ‘people in my path’ on my career journey. He was an example that has stayed with me of how we can better understand race, our different cultures, various perspectives if we take the time to form relationships with enough trust to share our experiences.

Our world really needs that now.

Best to you in opening up these conversations with the ‘people in your path’.

Connie