Daddy worked as a hired domestic for most of my life. That is, he was a chef, butler, and landscape gardener for various rich white folk in a very exclusive area of Dayton, Ohio, called Oakwood. As such, he had an intimate view of his employers. He cooked meals, served at big social parties, and manicured the lawns of some of the most influential people in Montgomery County. He also learned to take a lot of guff from the more cruel and insensitive of these employers.

It is amazing to me that Daddy was not an out-and-out bigot and that he did not teach racism to his children. On the contrary, he and Momma were very adamant about fair play and giving each person you meet the benefit of the doubt. And they developed this philosophy during the 20s, 30s, and 40s in a very racist America.

We were not allowed to speak disparagingly of any race or nationality. We were very much aware of the struggle for equality for Colored people, because we met it every day. You consciously thought first about entering a store or other business establishment operated by white owners in those days. There was the ever-present fear of rejection. Will I be served and treated with respect—or will I be turned away and publicly humiliated?

It was so much a part of growing up in America that it followed me into adulthood. I can remember writing to a campground in Colorado in the early 1960s to determine if I and my little family would be welcomed or rejected. I wanted to protect my wife and three little boys from embarrassment or something worse. The owners of Chief Hosa Camp in Golden wrote back a beautifully assuring invitation to “come on out.” We vacationed there for the next three years.

In 1976, when Jackie and I went house hunting in Bridgeville, Pennsylvania, we had lots of fear and trepidation. I remember sitting in the waiting room to interview for a condominium. Jackie nervously turned to me and said, “Walter, they are not going to accept Black people in here.” And then we noticed some promotional pictures on the wall. Bless your soul, there was a Black man and his wife having a barbecue in their back yard. I said, “Well, they’ve got at least two here—why not us?” We bought the house and lived there for four years until reassigned to Columbus, Ohio.

The point is, we were still intimidated by the racism of our childhood, way [back] in 1976. Where did we get our self-esteem in the midst of such a dehumanizing system? We got it from very durable, proud parents.

Every so often, my daddy would come home from serving a party or some other social function in disgust. His shoulders would sag, his chin would be set, and his face—normally wreathed in smiles—would contort. Then out would come those bitter words tinged with the disappointment of another broken trust, another delayed dream. “If his face is white, he’s dirty,” he would say. Momma would comfort him, and we kids would give them room and privacy.

We were not allowed to hear those discussions between a hurting father and the noble woman who stood by his side. They did not want us corrupted by their temporary disillusionment. Since I was the “baby” of the family, I could sometimes wander into these private moments that Momma and Daddy shared. I would hear her remind him that not all White folks were deceptive and treacherous. This puzzled me, because Momma was usually the one who complained to Daddy about some unreasonable demand that had been made on him or some humiliation to which he had been subjected.

During those times Daddy would defend the “folks,” and he could always end the discussion with, “Willie, I’ve got to make a living, and this is the only thing they will hire a Colored man to do who only has an 11th-grade education.”

Yes, every so often, Daddy’s cup would boil over, but the general trend of his life was fairness, optimism, and true grit. In the bad times he and Momma seemed to be the perfect match for each other. When either of them got off the track of what they believed and espoused, the other would gently nudge that spouse back to high ground, where they could please God and be a good example to their children.

How did Daddy bounce back from the brink of bigotry and racism under such conditions? Well, Momma helped him, but they both had something going that would be well for all to copy. They believed in the Golden Rule. More than that, they believed in the Holy Scriptures. “But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you” (Matt. 5:44). The words of Jesus are so comforting when we face injustice and unkindness.

Daddy learned, long before he died, that if your face is white it does not necessarily mean that you are dirty. It simply means that, like all the rest of us, you are imperfect and in desperate need of a Savior.

The 45th verse in Matthew 5 continues: “That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.” That’s one thing Daddy really wanted. His fervent desire was to be a child of the King. I thank God that Daddy taught us children correctly, even before he was able to live up to it himself.

Walter L. Wright is the Lake Union Conference president. This story is an excerpt from his recently published book, My Daddy Told Me So.