My favorite way of self-describing is to say that I am a middle-aged white girl from Upstate New York. I say this, normally prefacing it with the words "I dance like...", because as any one of my kids from Nottingham can tell you, I really
do dance like a white girl from Upstate.
I do not mean any of the words in a derogatory manner, quite honestly. I don't use the term "middle-aged" pejoratively; I am 50 years old, and based on genetics from the side of the family my body favors, I'm likely to live another 40-50 years, honestly. That makes me roughly at the midpoint of my life. I could say "middle-aged white
fat girl from Upstate New York" and be accurate, also not using the term
fat negatively but rather to describe the body I'm in.
I don't use the term
white proudly. For me, it's a descriptor of the fact that I resemble the Swiss Miss girl. I could just as easily use
really pale and be accurate. But in the common vernacular of the American culture is to call people
white and
black. (I genuinely would prefer terms that reflect reality:
vanilla, chocolate, and
cinnamon. Because white people have a culture, but it's pretty...
vanilla.) I don't think that being this pale gives me superior genetics because I paid attention in biology class and understand that pretty much this body is the result of
recessive everything. There's a reason that some features are dominant--they give some advantages, like not burning to an absolute crisp in sunshine.
As the days go on, however, I am uncomfortably aware of the privilege I have as a white woman. I'm part of the
majority, although one that is going to be less of a majority in this country as time wears on. I don't feel like part of any majority, honestly, and I never have. I know what it's like to feel that the deck is stacked against you before you even set foot in a place. I have experienced this plenty in my life. I had years full of it.
I have spoken before about going to Nottingham and learning so much from the African-American teachers and Teaching Assistants we had in our program, not to mention my students. I learned more than I ever thought I could. And lately I've been thinking an awful lot about one student in particular we had in the 12:1 (3:1) program. I'm going to call him M.
M was the sweetest, most wonderful and loving kiddo you could meet. He was about 5'11" and 180 pounds. He was verbal and greeted everyone, every day, really loudly. M was the kid who rivaled me in volume. "GOOD MORNING MISS KATE!" he would say with that ENORMOUS smile on his face. Every morning, without fail. M hopefully has lost none of his enthusiasm for life in the intervening years. He was a joy to behold.
M has autism.
So while he understands a lot of what is said to him, sometimes M can get confused and needs things repeated. And M is black.
If M got separated from the people watching over him and began doing things that might seem odd to a passerby, I can easily see that someone might call the cops. This would scare M mightily. He very much might not understand exactly what is going on.
I shudder to think of how that could go. Because M might be a relatively big black man, but I'm pretty sure he's incapable of killing flies, let alone doing harm to anyone else. He is a sweet and loving soul and the thought that anyone could threaten him because he's different and he's black makes me cry to type it. My guess is that if this scenario were to ever occur, he would have identification on him that would indicate that he's in a group home and that would hopefully help the officers dispatched to help him. I pray to God that it would.
Granted: this scenario is unlikely because my M was a rule-follower and the odds that he would get separated from his humans is extremely unlikely. But the thought that he would be in more danger because he's black makes me
livid.
Then I think of J. I didn't have J very long as a student in our program. J was scary. He killed animals just to see what it was like. Yes, that kind of kid. One who might get a pass because he's white. (He didn't get a pass from us, because one of the most honorable men I'll ever know, Lorenzo J. Jackson, held that kid's feet to the fire.)
Let me tell you: I am personally a lot more scared of J than I am of M. J was a bit skinny when I knew him, but tall. M surely outweighed him, but I am not at all afraid of M. Because my M, my beautiful sweet boy, just wanted to love you--and sing and dance in Drama class.
I'm not sure that J understands love. Which is a shame.
And yet, because one is black and one is white, people might be more afraid of the person who is no real threat and not fear the one who could do you harm.
I don't understand the world we live in. There are a lot of things I don't understand about it. But I do know this much: I hate that we seem to have a sorting system based upon the color of skin (especially if it's not the color of our own skin) that still has traction in this nation. I'll never know what it was like to live as a black woman, because I'm not one. I can only know my own struggles with my brain, and to think of having to be at such a disadvantage beyond that makes me marvel at the people I know who have survived it.
But I can know what it's like to love and to extend that love as much as I can. I'm still afraid of trying to show love, but that's not because of the color of someone's skin but because of my fear of vulnerability, something I am working on. But I can be vulnerable in this moment and say that I weep for George Floyd, for his family, and for those I know who have to struggle against this every day.
The color of a person's skin has no correlation to the beauty in their soul.
The opposite of fear is curiosity, courage, and love.
Let us ALL bravely be more curious and loving than we are afraid.
