Privilege

Lately, in my reading, I keep coming across the term “privilege.” For example, the SAT is now including and adversity score to measure students’ privilege. On a whim, I decided to measure my privilege by taking an “intersectionality” test. I tested very high. Apparently, being white, male, straight, and Christian marks me out as being one of the most privileged persons alive.

While I am privileged, the reason is not because of anything that could be picked up on my “intersectionality” quiz. The reason I have privilege is because of the woman sitting to my right in the picture. Her name was Marie Wallace. She was my mother.

To say that my mother was an amazing woman is not a strong enough description. She was born on the poor side of town in Rockingham, NC. Growing up the child of mill workers was difficult and resources were scarce. Under those conditions, many people whither. Not my mother. She finished high school and graduated from Richmond Technical Institute (now Richmond Community College) with a degree in nursing.

Early in her marriage with my dad, she decided that working night shifts as a nurse was not conducive to family life and changed careers. Eventually, she became a social worker at Marlboro Park Hospital in Bennettsville, SC. She was of the last generation of social workers who could work without a BS or MSW. On occasion, mom would apply for a promotion only to be rejected because she did not have a degree. Frequently, she would have to train the person who got the job in her place. That would frustrate her to no end. So when the opportunity to pursue her BA presented itself she began to work. She was never able to finish the degree, but I never forgot her example.

Mom was a woman of self-sacrifice. She poured out her life into her family and her children. The mother of four, mom believed that her faith mandated that she nurture her children in the Christian life. She made sure we participated in church life and prayed for us regularly.

Education was important to my mom. When we did not meet her expectations for us, there were consequences. In fact, when one of us made a bad grade we made sure to contact dad during the day, hoping that he would contact mom. If she knew several hours before she got to us, she had a chance of cooling off. A slight chance. Mom believed that we had good minds and she expected that we would use them, and if we did not Marie Wallace would be all over us. I am a first-generation college university graduate, and one of the biggest reasons was Marie Wallace. I think all of my other academic achievements and I know that they happened largely because of the values she instilled in me.

I am the man I am because of her and any privilege that I have is because of her hard work. I am the man I am because she believed in me. So yes, I have privilege, but they are because of Marie Wallace, and I am grateful.

My mom died in 1997 in her mid 40’s of breast cancer. I think of her often and, of course, I miss her. I would love to know what she thinks of my life. I think she would adore my daughters. I would love to see the look on her face in seeing Ainsley play with her tiara or laughing at Shrek.

Marie Wallace was a gift, and being her son is one of the biggest privileges I have had.