Why I am crying for George Floyd

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.

Dear Jesse McCartney

Dear Jesse McCartney,

I have been watching this season (as every season) of the Masked Singer with interest. I accidentally figured out that it was you behind the mask of the Turtle fairly early. The Masked Singer was made for people like me. I love figuring things out, and I in particular love to match people's voices. I have an unusually good ear. I also have a degree in Music and know quite a bit about singing.

I'm writing to you today because I listened to you all season and heard something I hadn't heard with you years ago on the radio. I heard a singer. Not just a good-looking guy who can sing--we have plenty of those going around--but an actual singer, someone who understands about his breath support and tone and when to hit those As with full voice and when to float them into a bit of falsetto space.

So I went and listened to some of your catalog, and one thought kept cropping up, so I'm going to just tell you: "This guy is singing the wrong genre of music."

Your recent catalog of music is all of a genre I refer to as "overproduced". I'm sure you understand what I mean. I mean, they auto-tuned you on your latest song. They auto-tuned your last entire album. And you don't need it.

If you're about to have an argument with me in your head, sir, about the fact that producers now go in to "spruce up" even good vocals and that EVERYONE is auto-tuned now (yes, even Adele, folks), I'm going to say the following:

1. No, not everyone is auto-tuned now, because if you auto-tune a blues singer, you get crappy music because the note that we refer to in Music Theory as "B-flat-7-flat", aka that "blues third", is not part of the equal temperament that auto-tune is based on.
2. Even if someone did want to go in and "zhuzh" up your vocals, they don't have to make it so blatant.
3. Yes, some live vocals are auto-tuned, but considering that you produced a few blues thirds during your time on Masked Singer, it's safe to say that yours were not.
4. Yes, I really can hear the difference, even if it's subtle. (I recently took auto-tune quizzes listening to people online. Passed with flying colors, and some of them were very subtle.)

If there is one thing I pray to God you take away from this experience, it's this: there are a lot of Gen-Xers and older Millennials who are DYING for good singers who can sing that genre of rock that is in the vein of Daughtry and Goo Goo Dolls and U2. I mean, I was WAITING for you to haul out Beautiful Day, which you would have killed (you seem to like singing in D, which it is).

And absolutely no offense to Chris Daughtry, Johnny Rzeznik, or Bono, but you have a better instrument than all three of them--and I will freely tell anyone that I think Daughtry is a magnificent artist and I will die on that hill if necessary.

I want you to go find a man named Butch Walker, tell him to stop being melancholy long enough to produce your next album, and go work with someone who will put you back on the charts where I know you want to be. And yes, it will be a rock album.

It seems that you genuinely like pop music, Jesse. And there's nothing wrong with that. I like rock music, but NOBODY is EVER going to ask me to sing heavy rock. Ever. I had to make peace with the fact that I sound like Martina McBride and Sara Bareilles. I need a ton of melody and the instrumentation cannot be too heavy-sounding--more Phil Collins than Def Leppard for me.

Please, sir, I am begging you on behalf of good music everywhere: embrace the fact that this amazing voice you have was designed for so much more than you've given it so far. Go make an album without synthesizers and with a whole lot of edge. Please.


With great affection,
Kate