Recently, I read about a swim club in Pennsylvania that has allegedly discriminated against a group of minority children who had come to the club with a camp on June 29 to swim, as part of an agreement between the children’s camp and the club. Days later, the camp’s money was refunded. John Duesler, the president of the swim club's board of directors, insisted that the club’s actions were motivated by safety concerns over the presence of too many swimmers, rather than race, but I believe one unfortunate comment made by a club member or representative was that the presence of the children altered the “complexion” of the club.

When I read about that comment, my jaw dropped.

It’s one of those ill-advised statements that you just KNOW won’t end well for the club.

And, apparently, it’s not.

Going well for the club, that is . . .

Soon after the incident occurred and the comments were made about the children’s presence, the club members voted to invite the children from the camp to return to the club. But it might be that it was just too little, too late.

Scratch that.

It was too little, too late.

I read this morning that a lawsuit has been filed against The Valley Club of Huntingdon Valley, Pennsylvania, alleging that the club discriminated against the camp attendees (children!) on the basis of their race. Class-action status is being sought on behalf of approximately 60 children and their parents.

I’m sure it will.

You have a club in a predominantly white area, a club of primarily minority (if not entirely minority) children (children!), allegations of comments that could arguably have racial undertones, the national press, and a public invitation to return to the club shortly after the national press started its big wheels turning.

Of COURSE the lawsuit is going to proceed for now until the day it is either settled for a very hefty amount or until it goes to trial.

If it goes to a trial, it could go either way, of course . . . but with the exposure the club has received already, I am thinking that the last thing it will want to do is to take that particular gamble.

I could be wrong.

Sometimes I am amazed at the number of lawsuits that continue to be filed that alleged discrimination on the basis of race. You would think that, by the twenty-first century, we would have moved beyond this point to where it is even an issue. Even if people continue to carry their personal prejudices throughout eternity, you would think that people would learn to temper their actions and words in a manner that those biases aren’t apparent. Given the litigious society that we live in, you would think people who DON’T have such biases, at all, would have the sensitivity to know that there are just some things that shouldn’t be said (the complexion comment comes to mind) if you want to avoid allegations of racial prejudice.

But, no. We are not there yet.

There is a segment of society that absolutely despises these types of lawsuits. They insist that the private club should have the right to restrict its membership and allow access to its facilities in any manner they deem fit—even if they want to deny access on the basis of race. That’s just not the way the law works though, and that’s a good thing. If it weren’t for the laws that were put in place decades ago, we might still have separate dining facilities, hotels, and even bathrooms. I already have a hard time deciding which is the men’s room versus the women’s room. I don’t need additional complications when I am in dire need of the facilities.

But I digress.

No, I am certainly not surprised that this lawsuit was filed, and I predict that it will probably never go to trial. I am sorry for those children who were involved here, because, even if race played absolutely, positively no part in the club’s decision to allow those children to swim at the club pursuant to a contract it had with the camp, those children were made to feel otherwise, whether you want to blame the club, the parents of the children, the media, or the lawyers who are now involved. And despite everything else going on in the world, no child should feel that way.

Ever again.

Perhaps that’s why the lawsuits continue so earnestly – to send a message that those feelings won’t be tolerated by an advanced society.

Maybe, one day, the message will be received.

P.S. My first day back at work as a lawyer was so awesome. I missed it!! I spent much of the day moving, cleaning my office, and getting everything where I wanted it. I will be posting pictures, soon, and I can’t describe how awesome it felt to see my name on the letterhead again! I still can’t believe I have come full circle, and I can’t express my gratitude to my family, friends, and God, especially, for bringing me here.

From the moment I found out that you existed, I loved you, but from the moment you were born, that love has grown to proportions no amount of words can ever describe. You have transformed me, and I will never be able to thank you enough for coming into my life. But, I am getting sentimental, when the point was actually to let you know about your first three months of life.

You were a very sweet-natured baby from the first day of your life. I should have known you would be easy when I experienced maybe five minutes of pain (at the most) during your birth. You rocked that delivery room.

And I will always be grateful for the easy birth.

You rarely cried, and I never got the sense that you were crying for the sheer fun of it. When you cried, you meant it, and that meant that I needed to act quickly, to avoid your emotional bereavement.

That’s a nice way of saying “your screaming.”

But those were rare, indeed.

No, from the day you were born you looked at the world as though you were studying it . . . wondering why you were here and why the world around you existed. You were just precious when your little forehead wrinkled up as you pondered the cosmos. I am not sure which I love more—that look of quizzical wonder, or the heart-melting smile I got for the first time when you were about two months old.

That was a very clever move, by the way.

In those early days, you slept a lot. You slept so much, in fact, that you lost too much weight that first week, and I got to experience for the first time what “feeling like a failure” meant when you are a mother. It was devastating.

I was also apparently starving you in those days. You can thank your dad for finally making you that first bottle of formula, as I agonized over not being able to sustain your needs, and wanting to so desperately that I couldn’t see that what you really wanted (and needed) was to eat more.

I am still sorry for that one . . . glad your double thighs tell me your body has forgiven me.

At night, you were an absolute angel. You didn’t sleep through the night, but when you awoke, it was only long enough to eat, and you were back to sleep. In that regard, dearest Bitlet, you were The. Best. Baby. Ever. I don’t care what anyone says about you.

You were really great in large crowds. When you were only a couple of weeks old, we took you to the Rites of Spring. You were the youngest person there, and from that first public appearance, you were a hit. I think you might have gotten betrothed that weekend to a little boy who was six weeks at the time.

When you were four weeks old, you and I got to see Kris Allen, who won American Idol that year. You were the youngest fan at his appearance. Thanks for winning those ringtones for Mom, and for being so very cool in a crowd of over 15,000. The people around us were amazed as you slept through the concert. I wasn’t. You always acted contrary to what I had ever expected.

If I ever try to complain about how long it took to break you from sleeping with your father and me, don’t listen. I needed you there, and I loved cuddling with you. I am the one who couldn’t break myself from the habit. I admit that.

If you ever have a baby, and are faced with the debate of whether to co-sleep or not? I say do it. It yielded some of the most precious moments I shared with you, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

You also had your grandparents completely wrapped around your fingers. If science later reveals that bovine growth hormones really are bad for infants, and that I should have listened to your grandmother and gotten organic formula . . . well, I am sure there were many, many times she was right and I was wrong. She was your biggest ally as I tried to navigate those early days. So any negative side effects you experienced from Wal-Mart’s formula is completely on me. And your dad.

They loved you at the daycare. I felt comfortable about my choice of daycare every time I picked you up and grinned. And when I dropped you off in the morning and you grinned. I loved the way they just adored my little Bitlet. The ladies in the nursery there, and at church, adored you. If you were spoiled as a child, I won’t take sole responsibility for that one. I had help from pretty much every person who ever met you.

You threw your first actual temper tantrum on the day you turned three months old. We were trying to introduce you to rice cereal as you went to bed, after we had spent the evening at an art exhibit, dinner at a restaurant, and grocery shopping. By the time we got home, you were so tired, you did not want to experiment with your food, and you let us know it. You screamed so loudly and with such gusto, I really believed, for the first time, that I had hurt you terribly by feeding you something other than formula. It was a horrible feeling, but you settled down eventually and fell asleep in my arms.

Even after that fit, I loved you. I loved you for that fit!

I loved those first three months, Bitlet. I loved watching you grow. I loved knowing that you recognized me. I loved the lessons you taught me and the realization I experienced soon after your birth that I was your mother. It has been the most sacred gift I have ever known. I treasured those early days, and I eagerly anticipated the many more I would share with you. I can’t wait to watch you experience life. But I don’t want you to do it too fast. It’s the cruel paradox of being a mother, I think . . . wanting to guide another human being through life, but not wanting them to grow up. But it will come, and I will be here to watch it all, God willing. Thank you, dearest Bitlet, for allowing me to experience that with you.

Love,

Mom