There are many words I heard growing up in Turners Falls. Seen as somehow less offensive than the traditional four-letter cuss words, words to describe the intellectually or developmentally disabled, gay people, and poor people, were thrown around like confetti. These words were often tolerated by the adults around us, in the school hallways, well into the ’90s when I attended Turners Falls High School.
You remember. I am sure that many of you would be horrified if you heard your child call a friend the “f” or “r” word now. Admitting this evolution in thinking doesn’t mean I have bad feelings about growing up in Turners Falls. And it doesn’t make us weak to admit that if we used them before, we were wrong. It’s part of an emotional and cultural evolution that we don’t stand for people talking like that anymore. I remind you to illustrate how things change, people evolve and learn, and we all become more tolerant and thoughtful.
I am a proud third-generation TFHS graduate. I wore the blue and white for four varsity sports, with so much pride. I was a cheerleader, doing the tomahawk chop on that track on a Saturday morning in autumn. I was a class president, a representative in Washington, D.C., for young leaders, a student rep on the School Committee in 1991.
I am not an “outsider,” telling you what to do with your town. My roots run deep into Letourneau Way via Dell Street and Millers Falls Road. My mom and my dad both graduated from TFHS, as did dozens of cousins, uncles and aunts. You know my family, he was your friend at the Rod & Gun, the Elks, she sold you your first home, sat near you in church, he gave you a job when you were on probation, chatted with you at IGA, at the Glen.
My family has been in Turners Falls longer than three generations, though they did not all graduate from high school possibly because they were immigrants who spoke French, or as people now sometimes say they “didn’t bother to learn the language.” We forget that part because of the privilege of the color of our skin, our generic European heritage, which helped us blend in with, and marry in with, the English, the Polish, the Irish; my freckles contradicting the pronunciation of my last name.
We rarely talk anymore about the old feud between the Irish selectmen and French Canadians, hinting to the reason the French church is built with its back end to the Avenue. The now seemingly-slight cultural differences those groups fought over do not have a constant reminder in our modern world. That’s not so for the Native American people in this area. I fully participated in the marginalization of a group of people, and I didn’t know that was what I was doing at the time.
I will never know what it is like to see a caricature of my heritage used as a school mascot. But I do know that if someone says it doesn’t feel good to them, we should believe them. I have friends who disagree with me. But I am far from alone. Admitting that you change your mind about something doesn’t mean you are weak. It means you are strong. If there is one thing I know about our power town, I know we are strong.
Words and images matter. People learn and evolve. Whole civilizations change. Finding out new information is what humans are designed to do. We don’t call our friends the “r” or “f” words anymore. Admitting that we were wrong is strength.
Change the mascot.
Danielle Letourneau-Therrien is a member of the TFHS Class of 1992.