It was 1963 and I was just 5 years old. My brother was only 3. We were the youngest of five siblings. My brother and I were with our mom at the army base Fort George G. Meade for a doctor’s appointment. My dad was a career air force officer stationed at Andrews Air Force Base in the Washington, DC suburbs. Ft. Meade was closer to our Maryland home. Mom grocery shopped at the base commissary, and our family received our medical care from the base medical clinic.
I was reminiscing with my sister the other day about life’s lessons taught by our mother. Mom passed away days before Mother’s Day. She would have been 99 years old later this year.
After arriving at Ft. Meade, mom parked the car and ushered my younger brother and me to the sidewalk. Back in those days, there were no car seats, booster seats, or seat belts in our car. My younger brother and I could slide back and forth across the rear bench seat and wrestle to our hearts’ content despite scolding from mom to sit still. Once on the sidewalk, mom directed us to “Follow the man with the cake” who was walking in the same direction we were headed.
The man, wearing a white top and white trousers, and an army fatigue hat was an army baker, I later learned. He was balancing a large pan on his shoulder supported by one hand. After a few steps, he did an about-face and walked directly to my mom. They spoke for a few moments and then he continued on his way. We finished our appointment and returned home.
The following night mom surprised the family after dinner. She announced we were having cake for dessert, but it wasn’t a two-layer round cake she would typically make from scratch. Mom brought to the dining room table a large sheet cake. It was the first sheet cake I recall ever having seen.
Mom explained that the cake was a gift from the army baker we saw the previous day. When the soldier stopped to speak with mom he thanked her for calling him a man. He may have been a soldier, but he was also black. In Maryland in 1963 another mother might have instructed her children to “Follow the boy with the cake.”
The soldier offered mom a cake as his way of saying ‘thank you’ for referring to him as a man. She declined. He insisted. After a brief back-and-forth, mom conceded. She returned to Ft. Meade the following day to pick-up the cake from the soldier at the bakery.
The family conversation at the dinner table that evening was the first I can recall when race was the topic of conversation. I remember my older siblings discussing how odd it was that someone would call a grown-up man a boy, but I learned that was not uncommon at the time.
This episode left a profound impression on me. It was a moment that contributed to my outlook on life.
It was a mom’s lesson I will never forget.
Mark Hyman is an Emmy award-winning investigative journalist. Follow him on Twitter, Gettr, Parler, Post, and Mastodon.world at @markhyman, and on Truth Social at @markhyman81.
His books Washington Babylon: From George Washington to Donald Trump, Scandals That Rocked the Nation and Pardongate: How Bill and Hillary Clinton and their Brothers Profited from Pardons are on sale now (here and here).
Chappie James, the first Negro general in the Air Force, a friend of my father, had a story about when he was a kid somebody decided to call him the "N" word, and he came back from school with his school clothes a little untidy. He explained the situation to his father and his daddy gave him a whipping, back when they said if you spare the rod you spoil the child, rejecting Darwin's notion regarding evolutionary pressure. Chappie's dad told him never to do that again, because the best way to address the situation was to get so high that when someone calls you some name, they have to look up when they say it.