I'm white. No, really. I am. Well, except that my maternal grandmother was a Cherokee Indian. And my maternal grandfather was Scottish. And I'm pretty sure my paternal grandmother was Irish. And I strongly suspect there's some more Native American blood on my paternal grandfather's side. So...maybe I'm not really white after all. Wait, what does it mean to be "white"?
Either way, it doesn't really matter. I'm an American. I was raised in an American home, taken to church regularly, taught to respect my elders, taught to respect authority, and taught to work for what I have. I was raised surrounded by family with the same ideals (church, respect, work). I was raised to not sit around waiting for others to take care of me.
I've been friends with people of all races. Some of my closest friends are "people of color" - that is, they're African American. Or Black. Whatever label you want to put on them. I'm not friends with these people because they are African Americans. I'm friends with them because I value them. I appreciate them as PEOPLE. I believe they have good hearts and good heads.
My husband & I have practically adopted (or been adopted into?) a Hispanic family from church. I love them as though they are my brother, sister, niece and nephews. I'd do anything within my power for them. I never had siblings growing up. And, being stabbed in the back by the closest thing I did have to a sibling just a few years ago really took a toll on my ability to love and trust people, even those related to me by blood. So, to have found a brother and sister - whom I love and trust - has been a true blessing. I don't look at them as being Puerto Rican or Mexican. I look at them as my brother and his wife, my sister. I look at their children as my niece and my nephew. And I hope they will always consider me their sister; their Ti-Ti. I don't love them because they're Hispanic. I love them because they are people who have the same ideals that I do (church, respect, work).
I guess what I'm trying to say is that, in general, when I look at people, I try to evaluate them for WHO they are. Not what color their skin is.
Today, one of those friends of mine, who happens to be African American, said to me as we disagreed about something, "You won't ever understand. You'd have to change the color of your skin in order to understand."
I'm sorry, what?! I won't go into the difference of opinions that led to this comment. That's not really important. In fact, none of this is really important to any of you reading this, it's just important to me that I vent my frustration at having someone pull that card with ME. It hurt. A lot. I try to be respectful of most everyone (except for maybe extreme liberals because they're generally just idiots), and to not judge them based on the color of their skin. I try to look past outward appearances in all cases, not just in cases of skin color, to the person INSIDE. I have to admit, I am deeply saddened to see - to learn - that this friend sees ME as a white girl instead of as a human being. Here, _____, you can have The Race Card back. I don't want it. Save for the next "injustice" you see.
