Aboutten years ago my dad was pastor in a church near Charleston. Two centuries ago,this was a prominent area in the slave industry, and after the Civil War, manyharbored hateful attitudes toward blacks. Families passed down this legacy ofprejudice, some into the 1990s.

After my father had been at this churchfor six months, one of the deacons asked him for a favor. Every year the town,mainly the church, held a youth baseball league and the deacon wanted my dad toannounce the beginning of the season to the congregation and have my olderbrother play on a team. My father initially accepted the invitation but wanted toknow more. He asked the deacon how the church had advertised the league and wastold that the church did nothing else to publicize the program. Dad thought thisa bit strange. Didn't the congregation want as many kids as possible to show up?

When my dad investigated this puzzling question, he didn't like what hefound. They weren't advertising because they didn't want the whole town toparticipate, especially the black families. This made my dad reconsider makingthe announcement to the church. He talked to my mom and prayed very hard for manydays. Finally my father decided he would make the announcement and allow mybrother to play. Although he didn't want to do this, my father knew that if hedidn't, someone else would, and they'd twist it so he would look like a bad guy.There was one condition, though: If my father found out any black family whosigned up their child to play was rejected, my brother would not play. Althoughhe never found any proof of this, my father had a feeling it hadhappened.

Daddy knew he couldn't change the league, so he decided insteadto start a soccer team and advertise it clearly as a "for-everyone"event. He invited many families, black and white, to sign up their kids, and hishard work paid off. About 80 kids showed up for the first practice, half blackand half white. Our entire family rejoiced at the large turnout, but soonsomething strange began to happen. Week by week the number of players declined.By the fourth practice, not enough showed up to even resemble a team. My dad,upset and determined, searched for answers. Then he remembered the first weekseeing someone park near the field to watch the practice. The man looked like thecousin of the deacon, and did not appear very happy about the new interracialsoccer team.

My dad discovered that the parents of some of the soccerplayers had been strongly "encouraged" by their supervisors at work toremove their children from the team, or suffer major consequences. It just sohappened that the two cousins - and many of their relatives - were prominentmembers in the community and supervisors at a major employer in the area.

Although the men essentially destroyed my father's soccer team, they didnot stop there. At a business meeting one Sunday night, one stood up andsuggested to the church that they ask my father to resign. Fortunately thecongregation kept their heads; they had no reason to fire my father. But after aseries of debates and question-and-answer sessions, the congregation became splitalmost in half. Hateful feuds and debates broke out. The arguments became soviolent that finally the deacons regretfully asked my father to resign. He toldthem he would not; he had done nothing wrong or ungodly. If they could find anyevidence that he had, he would leave. Finding no evidence, of course, the feudswithin the church continued.

Eventually, though, they obtained just enoughvotes to fire my dad. Fortunately my mom got a teaching offer elsewhere at thesame time, so we packed our bags and left.

Our family still looks backwith pain at what happened ten years ago. We wince when we remember friendshipsbroken by hate. But we have hope that somehow, in some way, our family has begunthe breakdown of prejudice that governs the lives of so many people.