How I Lost My Daughter

This is part of our continuing series of accounts by readers of how they shed the illusions of liberalism and became race realists.

I am a daughter of the South, raised in the sixties and seventies in a large, upper-middle class family of French, English, and German stock. As was common back then, my family had black maids. My siblings and I loved them deeply and developed a bond with them that lasted our whole lives. My father paid them far above the typical wage, in addition to managing their social security accounts, so they would have an income in their advanced years. They were treated well. They knew they were respected.

I have always been immensely proud of my family, our ancestry, and our history. My sisters and I learned to be ladies. My brothers learned to be gentlemen. We were also taught to treat everyone we encountered kindly and with courtesy, no matter his station in life. To use the “n-word” was unthinkable. We were not taught a sense of superiority, but a healthy respect for God-given differences. Our family’s segregationist impulses were not mean-spirited but adhered to out of common sense. Race-mixing never occurred to us or anyone we knew, but neither did meanness, incivility, or hatred. We knew who we were, and meant to preserve it, as is everyone’s natural right. It never occurred to me that the world would ever disagree.

Several decades later, I found myself in the tough situation of being the only caregiver to my young daughter. I struggled to keep her in a top Catholic elementary school, as her faith and education was of paramount importance. Back then, I wasn’t very racially conscious. On one occasion, I invited a black child in her class, the daughter of a visiting African engineer, to eat out with us. A few years later, I defended what I saw as Trayvon Martin’s innocent walk through his neighborhood (I wouldn’t now).

By the time my daughter was entering high school, Catholic institutions had become prohibitively expensive. Since I worked, I couldn’t homeschool her, either. So I opted for one, then another better, public school with a good reputation and a diverse student body. This fateful, terrible decision began my daughter’s indoctrination.

I will never forget the day my daughter turned to me and said derisively, “Oh, that’s so white.” I was shocked and crushed at this slam of who we are, who she is. I began hearing comments like these more and more over the next few years. The snide remarks escalated into direct accusations of “racism” after I articulated calmly that I would not accept her dating or marrying interracially. I base this conviction on a sense of family pride, as well as on the folly of intermingling cultures that are so profoundly different, and which, frankly, are often abhorrent.

Now in her mid-twenties, my daughter has internalized most of the leftist anti-white mentality of modern culture, and generally shows me complete disrespect, when she speaks to me at all. She doesn’t treat her father much better; he is too white and too male, I presume. A lovely girl, she inherited just enough brains and beauty to use everything we gave her against us.

If I could do it over, I would not assume the world is a rational place. I would see it for the ugly, manipulative, and socially dangerous place it is. I would segregate my daughter so completely from the non-white populace that there would be no chance for non-white interaction of any significance. I would pay someone to teach her at home if I couldn’t be there. She would have a thriving social life but one that I had carefully constructed. Maybe we would have reared her in Poland or Hungary, who knows. But nothing would have been as hard as seeing my child grow up to reject me and curse me, after I spent a lifetime struggling to provide for her with a devoted love. Now, her contempt for me is palpable. It is an indescribable pain.

Readers, do whatever it takes to prevent this from happening to the children and young people you care about. Plan now. Take preventative action. Otherwise, they may end up rejecting everything you are and everything you value — including your very identity. You may lose them forever. I learned the hard way that there is no negotiating with a world that seeks to destroy and humiliate white parents and separate them from their children. Do whatever it takes.

I will never capitulate on these issues. I can’t. It’d be like professing a different creed, a violation of conscience. It would be a betrayal of my ancestors who made my life possible. But I may never have my daughter again in this life.

If you have a story about how you became racially aware, we’d like to hear it. If it is well written and compelling, we will publish it. Use a pen name, stay under 1,200 words, and send it to us here.