"A Thought To Ponder..."

Josiah Jennings aka Sean Zevran

The Nigger Won It

Josiah Jennings
21-May 2014


First, who uses that word at all, much less in the title of an article, right? But when I tell you this story, you will understand. This story is one of many memorable experiences that helped shape the person I am today.

Let me first provide those of you who don’t know me with a little background about myself. I am of both African American and white heritage, and I spent most of my childhood growing up in and near a small East Texas town known as McLeod, Texas. I attended McLeod High School and participated in track and field and cross-country all four years of high school. Two of my best childhood friends were also on both of these teams, and with them and several others we had teams strong in both skill and camaraderie. The cross-country team was a state competitor all of my four years of high school, and as an individual several of us made it to State in track and field three out of four of my high school years. We were really something together. When it comes to reminiscing about my youth, high school sports provide some of my best memories. I am sure many of you can relate. However, my time participating in high school sports also provides me with some of my worst memories. I am going to tell you about one of those worst memories.

One of the most unpleasantly engrained memories of my childhood is one of heartbreak and betrayal. It feels strange that I can still vividly recall it as if it only happened a few days ago. It was a warm, beautiful spring day and the day of the high school regional track meet, which happened to take place on the campus of what is now my alma mater, Stephen F. Austin State University. It was where all the high schools of that particular Texas region would go to compete for the regional track meet. Of course, there was technically a boys team and a girls team that were separate from one another, but given that all of the McLeod track boys and girls trained and traveled together, and the fact we were only representing a size 1-A school, we considered ourselves a single team.

We had just arrived at the SFA football stadium that day and began to unload our tent, bags and equipment from the bus. It had been a long two-hour drive and some of us split off to go set up camp. For those of you unfamiliar with how high school track meets go, they usually take place at a football field that is enclosed by the track on which the runners compete. Track and field participants typically pick a spot somewhere on the field to use as a team rendezvous point and as a place to prepare for the races. Teammates cluster together and keep all of their gear in one spot and watch over one another during the competitions.

I accompanied several teammates down onto the field to help carry our gear and set up shop. Once we found a spot and got everything situated, we each broke off to go do our own thing. Some of us had races for which to prepare, some headed toward the lavatory and some, including myself, were famished from the drive and needed a snack to tie us over until our first race.

Ever since passing by the concession stand earlier on our way in, I was deadset on getting some beef nachos and a coke. Probably not the best meal to have before a race, but our options were limited. Plus, I had plenty of time for it to safely digest before my first event. After making a pitstop at the restroom, I put my meal ticket that Coach Lambeth had given us in hand and headed directly toward the smell of food. Finally, I got my coke and nachos and headed back down to the field to watch the races.

The girls 100-meter dash had just begun and I was coming back to where we had dropped our gear. Only two of my teammates had returned, a guy and a girl. Their backs were to me as they tried to see through the crowd that had amassed in front of them to intently watch the female sprinters. They neither saw nor heard me approaching, which I suspect is the only reason I was privy to what I was about to hear.

As the girls who were currently sprinting neared the finish line, the crowd tightened and it became more difficult to see who was winning.

“Who won?” the male teammate would ask the female as the race concluded.

And she would reply, in a lower voice, as she tried to peer over the crowd, “I think the nigger won it”.

The clamor of the crowd was loud enough that only the two within earshot could hear the words spoken. Well… those two, and the kid who had just been devastated by what he had heard—me.

Now, these words might just seem like typical ignorance coming from the mouth of an immature child to be dismissed as easily as they were spoken, but this was different. She was supposed to be my teammate, and so was the guy to whom she spoke these words.

We were more than teammates. We were a family of sorts. This hurt. Badly. These were people with whom I had literally shedded blood, sweat and tears to get to this point. Anyone who has ever been a part of a sports team, military unit or something similar is familiar with this kind of bond. And now, all of a sudden, I felt as if I were no longer part of the team.

Imagine how it would feel if suddenly you were being disowned by your family. Imagine finding out the teammates on whom you came to depend and trust with your life didn’t view you the same as the other people on the team. In fact, you find out they view you as far less than everyone else on the team.

I was dumbfounded. I didn’t know what to think or whom I could trust. I was one of only four black students in the whole school, or multiracial anyway. Did everyone think of me in this way? Was I just the nigger who wins medals for the real team? I was shattered…

Ever felt as if your heart had been wrenched from your chest? Ever felt the knot in your throat that you couldn’t swallow as you tried to hold back the tears? The void in the pit of your stomach and the confusion in your mind, as if everything you knew at that moment had been sucked out of you?

I have, especially on that day. I think that is why this memory is still with me. Not many people have known this story until now, and I am uncertain if anyone from my high school knows it. I never mentioned it to anyone that day—not even my parents—and I don’t think I ever spoke about it until near the end of my college days.

For better or worse, when I heard those words that day, I simply backed away slowly. They still hadn’t noticed me standing behind them, and I wanted to keep it that way. With my head down, and coke and nachos in hand, I trodded off to find a shady spot from which I could still watch the races… alone.

What should I do, I wondered. Should I say something? What would I say? Who would I tell? How would I know they weren’t secretly thinking the same about me? If my own teammates can turn their back on me after all we had been through, then anyone can.

I sat there for a while with tears in my eyes as I slowly finished my nachos, pretending to watch the races, but not giving much thought to them. Eventually, I concluded there was nothing else I could really do, except do what I had initially come to do—win. As I said, I was devastated that day, and I didn’t know whom I could trust, but I knew I could trust myself, if no one else.

I brought home five regional medals that day, and anyone who was there and remembers can attest to this. It seems an almost textbook-perfect romantic ending to a tragic story. But just ask one of my best friends who was there, Austin Brown, or track down a 2005 or 2006 McLeod ISD yearbook, and I’m sure there is a picture or two of me in there somewhere with so many medals around my neck that it’s comical. I don’t think any other medals ever meant so much to me during my high school track days, not even my State medals.

Today, those medals and that day—this memory—serve as a lifelong lesson. Yes, it is also a lesson on self-reliance that I use for personal motivation at times, but more importantly it is a lesson on racism, prejudice and hate, and striving to overcome these obstacles. I like to think of this story as a parable about overcoming the adversity of human hatred and discrimination. While my childhood is full of many stories like this one, this one in particular stands out to me more than the others and I wanted to share it with you all. May it serve as a reminder that we always keep our eye on the prize—the medals of tolerance, love and equality.

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I love to destroy the fallacy of stereotypes... Many will recognize the photo of the author of this piece as none other than prolific porn star Sean Zevran (his stage name).  And while some will be judgmental of his chosen profession, when he speaks, you realize that in addition to a beautiful body, like everyone else, he has a brain and he uses that as well.  And he demonstrates here that he's an amazingly intelligent and thoughtful person.

Like Josiah, I think every person of color in America (including myself), has a story to tell like this one. Stories like Josiah's reveal that moment when you find out for yourself what your parents tried to tell you... As a person of color, you are going to be seen as a "lesser-than..." you will be labeled by the pervasive racism that dwells just below the surface (most of the time, unless you're Obama!) and you will have to work harder and be better than others just to be seen as equal.

Reading Josiah's experience took me right back to the most poignant remembrance of a similar situation in my own life and it made me momentarily sad to realize that my two youngest son's will, and likely already have gone through this same painful life lesson. And it made me wonder if someday, (maybe in my children or grandchildren's lifetimes) we'll learn to not see race and to not demean one another out of fear and ignorance... It's just a thought.

"Fear Eats the Soul"