Really, Really White People

'They' came in a big, pale herd. Everyone of 'them' with ghost-like skin, light eyes, and a preppy look. They all had a way of speaking (along with really corny jokes) that made me want to smack them in the face for no other reason than that they just didn't get it. I found myself judging and scrutinizing every fiber of their Massachusetts, surburbanite beings. The whole package of them felt insulting.


It was as if their stuffiness reflected their close-mindedness. Enough to make a liberal-minded, urbanite want to gag. They wore these stupid uniforms-- you know, the jeans with a polo shirt and a baseball cap. The inflection in their voices and their body language was offensive. Lack of eye contact, poor posture, and unnecessary use of big words, I immediately recognized as a thin veil hiding fear, a lack of depth, and a self-righteousness that needed taken down a notch.

Or was it that at all?

Stereotypes.

Quick judgements.

Once upon a time, I was a white girl growing up in rural Michigan with very little exposure to cultural diversity-- at least before college. My experience outside of a really, really white community consisted of the black people I saw in the mall three times a year at the nearest city center 60 miles away, and the Korean daughter of the only foreign doctor in our town.

There was one multi-racial student in my high school-- Chris Jones had a black father from Flint. Every young girls parents feared that their daughter would date him. Oh, the shame! He had a great personality, was an awesome football player, and was my locker partner during my junior year. He died from a rare blood disease senior year, and then we were back to a bunch of white hicks and a losing football team.

We all need to take off our uniforms.

We all need to look below the surface.