Living the Gift of a Privileged Life

Nancy Glaser

I did not feel particularly “privileged” growing up in the rural town of Hawthorne, New Jersey, in a typical lower-middle class post-WWII family. There was not a family of color in Hawthorne at that time. When I was older, I learned why. The realtors and mayor were in cahoots in keeping this unremarkable town “white.” However, my mother and father took us kids to an “inner city” (Paterson) Methodist Church all my childhood. It was there I think I felt a little privileged when I learned I had to share my parents and stuff with them. Some of the children (all white) had parents in jail and some were being raised by grandparents.

It was a strange feeling, because we did not have much in material wealth, but relative to the kids in Paterson we had a lot. My parents never complained about what we didn’t have. I wore hand-me-down clothes from older cousins (sometimes being the third person to wear the dress). We ate peaches, corn, beans, and tomatoes from our summer garden. I never received an allowance. I had a paper route starting at ten years old, which had been my older brother’s. We never ate at a restaurant. We heard of some rich people but there were not many in our lives. Most Americans I knew at this time were living a modest life in modest homes. When my mother started volunteering at food kitchens in Paterson (the inner city) and taking me with her, I must say I was embarrassed when my mother would bring some of the food home for our family dinner. I told her she was “stealing” from the poor people. She laughed.

My mother had high expectations for her children in terms of experiences and education. I remember her having me write an essay on why I deserved to be an American Field Student. That is how I ended up in Christchurch, New Zealand, living with a family and attending Christchurch Girls High School for my junior year. She always discouraged my boy-crazy mindset and told me that I was too young to think about getting serious about anyone. I had to first go to college and become a teacher or a nurse (that was what was available to girls like me at that time). I would be the first generation of college graduates in our family.

One important experience she signed me up for was the Conference of Christians and Jews week-long camp – I was a senior in high school. I believe this is the first time I really met and spent time with “colored” boys and girls. It was not surprising to me to be with them for that week. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world. My parents were color and race blind. They believed that all God’s children were equal in the eyes of the Lord.

I remember a conversation with my father that stays with me today. He said, “Be thankful you were not born black in America. They are not treated fairly, and it is a hard life.” This wisdom was spoken from my father who only had a fourth grade education.

This was the foundation of my upbringing that has lasted with me throughout my life. Yes, we were “privileged” but not by living in wealth, but in the more important way of having opportunities available to the children in my family, because of the color of our white skin.

As we face the truth of the unfairness of our democracy based on skin color, there is much work that must be done. We “born to privilege” as white people need to step up and do our part to right the egregious wrong that has existed before we were born and continues to be per- petuated over our lifetime.

Our GSB class of ’85 had an extraordinary number of people who could make our world fairer and just. Let’s join together and make a miracle happen.