I bought a house today. Because I wasn’t in a position to
buy, I have been renting a house for the past two and a half years. This purchase represents a significant
accomplishment for me. I am more than
excited about what it does for me financially and emotionally. I should be extremely excited, and I am. But, excitement is not all I feel. I also feel a bit of sadness. My success is
bittersweet.
About five years ago, I set out to secure, for my son, the
absolute best education I could afford.
My son, who was seven at the time, was in a school that, by objective
standards, was not the best of schools. Being
that my son is exceptionally bright, I always knew that he would eventually
need more. So, I made it my goal to get
him into the best educational setting I could afford. I spent a period of about three years
researching schools in the area. I
searched long and hard for the perfect combination of academic prowess and
diversity. You’d be surprised at how
difficult it is to find a school, in the Pittsburgh area, that has a
respectable number of minority students and also has respectable academic
performance. An additional hurdle in my
quest was the fact that his mother had to agree. I am no longer with my son’s mother. Our custody agreement requires that we agree
on all major parenting decisions. Thus,
I didn’t just need to find the perfect school.
I needed to find the perfect school and
convince my son’s mother to agree with me on it. Suffice it to say that this was a tall
order.
After three years of offering up ideas and being shot down,
I made a decision. There was a public
school, not far from where I lived at the time, which is considered a top-notch
school. It is ranked nationally. It is acclaimed locally. By the objective numbers, it’s a great
school. The downside: it’s in an
affluent neighborhood. Now, half of the
people reading this had to go back and make sure they read that last sentence
properly. After all, who considers an
affluent neighborhood a downside? But,
the other half of the people reading this were nodding in agreement as they
read along. You see, one of the strange
truths that I discovered in my journey is that there are two very separate
worlds that exist simultaneously and virtually side-by-side. The haves and the have-nots. Their worlds are quite different. Their values
could not be more divergent. This issue
really brought that fact to light for me.
Having sprung primarily from the world of the have-nots, Black
America has always had a strained relationship with money. Many of us don’t have
any. Those who have it are often
ostracized for it. Those who don’t have
it, often vilify people who do. So, when
I suggested that my son be moved to a school in an affluent area, many in my
inner circle, especially my son’s mother, objected. People feared that the culture and the people
there would never accept my son. People
feared that he couldn’t handle the pressure.
Some feared that the culture in the area might rub off on him. Again,
this sounds silly to many of the people who will read this, but trust me. It’s true.
The folks on the other side of the tracks often believe that the values,
sensibilities, and culture surrounding wealth are less than desirable.
Anyway, I found this school district, and I rented a
house. I spent more money than I could
afford, but my goal was to give my son the best. After all, what’s the point in having money
other than providing your children with opportunities? I knew that, although the financial burden
was heavy, my star was on the rise.
Sooner or later I would be in a better financial position. I would buy a house. I would have given my son the best. It would all be worth it in the end. I wish I could tell you that’s how this all went
down. I’m sure you know already, it’s
not. Ultimately, my son’s mother did not
consent to him going to the school I chose for him. I spent nearly three years living in one of
the best school districts in the area, and my son never made it to the school. As I expected, life got easier,
financially. I got my dream job. I saved money. I put myself in a position to buy a
home. But, in the end, my son would not
be allowed to receive the gift I had worked so hard to give.
I have heard several affluent Black people talk about the
emotional struggle that came with their success. As they move from the world of the have-nots,
across the proverbial tracks, to the world of the haves, successful Black folks
have often noted the difficulty that comes with their desire to remain
connected to their old circle of friends and the realization that many of the
people in their circle will not be able to make the transition. In fact, there are plenty of famous stories
of Black athletes and entertainers who are put into financial ruin by their
undying desire to take everyone across the tracks with them. Their goal of helping their circle cross the
tracks essentially breaks them. One lesson
that I have heard repeated more than once is about the inevitability of accepting
that everyone can’t make that transition with you.
As I said, I bought a house today. That’s bittersweet, because of what it represents. You see, I didn’t buy a house in that
affluent neighborhood I had been renting in, as was my plan. When I came to accept that my son would never
get to reap the benefits that access to that area could provide, I decided to
move to where was. Moving away from that
neighborhood represents, to me, accepting that I my son would never be
permitted to cross the tracks. Not
fully. He would be permitted to visit,
but he would always be encouraged not to take full advantage of the world that
exists on the other side. That makes me
more than a little bit sad.
Let me be clear. I’m
not wealthy. I’m not some ball player
who just got drafted. I’m not a
physician or an engineer suddenly making boatloads of money. But, landing my dream job shortly after
marrying a similarly successful partner did land me suddenly and squarely on
the other side of the tracks. And what I
have learned is that the other side of the tracks is more about mentality than
money. On some level, it is a
geographical destination, but only in the sense that there are physical
boundaries, created by housing prices, that give certain people access to
resources, like schools, healthcare facilities, playgrounds, and safe
streets. But, more than geography, the
other side of the tracks is about a way of thinking. It’s a set of values. It’s
the fact that half of my friends will be insulted when they read this, and the
other half will be baffled that I had to write it. It’s the fact that when I tell people in my
hometown where I’ve been living for the last few years, they often ask me how I
managed to survive. They don’t believe
me when I tell them that the people in the neighborhood were amazingly nice to
us and that we never encountered a single moment of feeling out of place. When I tell my current neighbors that my son
doesn’t go to their school, they literally get confused. They get this stunned look on their
faces. Two different neighbors actually
offered to call my son’s mother, assuming that it must be some
misunderstanding. That’s the two sides of the tracks. They are side by side. They interact daily. And, unless you have experienced both sides,
I am not convinced that you would even know that the other side is there. But I have, and so I do.
To me, the only benefit of having money is that it affords me
the ability to provide my family with opportunities. And this was an opportunity. Buying the house I bought represents
accepting that my son will never realize that opportunity. Its sort of like buying season passes to
Disney World, and then on the first day of the season, deciding to go to Cedar
Point instead. Sure, Cedar Point is
nice, but it’s not Disney World. And you
already have passes to Disney World.
That’s what this moves feels like, to me. That’s what my success feels like, to
me. It feels like having season passes
to Disney World, and knowing that my son isn’t allowed to go with me. And so, my success is always
bittersweet.
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