- Mar 5, 2004
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I?m afraid that I might be becoming a racist. Let me 'splain. [pause] No, there is too much. Let me sum up.
Between my mother and father, I?ve got Mexican, Spanish, German, English, Native American and maybe some Russian blood running thru my veins. I?m your basic American mutt and have always considers myself ?white? in the same way you might say something is generic or plain. I have Mexican family members and very much love them and enjoy that part of my culture, but I didn?t feel like I was growing up in a Mexican family. My mom is about as white as you can get (though she makes a damn fine chorizo and eggs breakfast).
I grew up in a mostly white suburb north of Los Angeles, but never really thought of race much as a child. I just happen to have been born on the morning of April 4, 1968. My mother told me the story of waking up in the hospital the day after and crying when she read the newspaper saying Martin Luther King Jr. had been killed. When I was old enough to understand who MLK was, I heard that famous quote, ??a world where my children are judged by the content of their character?, and have felt that if we could get the world to follow his advise we would all be better off.
Growing up with friends of all races, I knew there were different kinds of people in the world, but also believed we were all basically the same, with the same wants and needs: a decent place to live, a good job, the chance to meet that someone special and maybe start a family, a safe town with good schools to raise kids in, a few good friends and the chance to cut loose have a little fun on occasion.
After school I went to work as a newspaper photojournalist. The best part of the job was meeting so many different kinds of people and learning about their lives. I spent time with people of every race from every walk of life and, in a small way, shared their joys, trials, triumphs, tribulations and sometimes even their deaths. During my career I developed what I feel is a healthy amount of empathy for my fellow man. I learned to see life through many different eyes and realized that most issues are not as simple as you might think when you see them from another person?s point of view.
After thirteen years of newspaper work I left so I could be at home to help raise my three kids. I went to work part time as a middle and elementary school librarian for a public school district. I also worked as a classroom technology aid, instructing students and helping teachers integrate technology into their lesson plans. Working with children is some of the most rewarding work I?ve ever done.
Several years ago my wife was transferred to a job in Vallejo, CA near San Francisco. It?s a heavily minority town with a significant ?ghetto? population. We spent almost four years in Northern California and, while I sincerely tried to fit in, I always felt like my personal ethics and culture were directly clashing with the ghetto mentality of most of the people (black, brown, yellow and white) I came into contact with. I couldn?t go to the store or gas station without someone getting in my face asking for money. My wife was afraid to go anywhere alone after several of her employees got mugged, beaten and robbed in the neighborhood surrounding her workplace.
Several years earlier I had been carjacked at knifepoint. I tried not to let it affect me, but as I saw the crime and ?ghetto-ness? of the people around me I began to develop a hatred of people. I began to hate the folks at the grocery store buying all their food with food stamps. I began saying ?get a fucking job? under my breath when people asked me for money at the gas station. I wanted to puke with I saw some drunk with a Vietnam Vet sign begging for money on the corner. Do any of those idiots realize you?d have to be close to 60 to have actually fought in the Vietnam War???
My family has never been exactly economically comfortable. It?s been a struggle to have one of us home with our kids. We?ve scrimped and sacrificed, but all around me it seemed like everyone had their hand out and expected someone else to fill it for them.
I got on the public bus one day and had to listen to a group of teens loudly bragging about who?d been to jail and what for. Every third word was either ?bitch?, ?fuck? or ?awesome dude?. Then they got on the topic of when they got their fist gun and how they?d first used it (I was given a .22 rifle at the age of 12, but I bet these guys never hunted rabbit in their lives). I sat shocked as around me the rest of the ?normal? folks kept their heads down and ignored them. Then a mother casually smacked the crap out of her kid for dropping a sippy-cup of juice and interrupting her cell phone conversation. I began screaming on the inside. This is madness. I?m not one of these people. I don?t belong here!
I started staying at home as much as I could. I didn?t want to have anything to do with the community in which I lived. I went to work and kept my head down. I had no friends and no social life outside of my own family. And then one day it happened.
On the news was a report of some crime and the video showed a bunch of black faces. I didn?t say it out loud, nobody heard me, but it my mind I heard it as clear as a bell: ?fucking n-words.?
I was shocked and disgusted with myself. I felt like I?d just donned a pointy white hood and joined the KKK. I reminded myself I had lots of black friends who I respected. I thought of all the many, many people of color I?d met in my lifetime who I admired. I thought of all the good that people of color had done in my community for others. I mentally chanted what MLK said, ??judged not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character? again and again.
Then I started thinking about my life experiences and everything I?d seen while working at the newspaper. That woman who got drunk and plowed into a family of 5, killing everyone except the baby in the car seat, yeah, she happened to be white, but she was a n-word. The guy who carjacked me, he happened to be Latino, but he was a n-word. The white guy on roller skates who ran into my truck, who angrily cussed me out and kicked a huge dent in my door when I got out to see if he was hurt, yeah, he was an n-word too. Those bangers on the bus, they happened to be black, every one of them was a mother fucking n-word.
At first I was almost OK with my mental use of the dreaded N-word. I figured that I was judging people just like MLK had said, on the content of their character not the color of their skin. Actions dictated if someone was an n-word or not. I was comfortable with that and started using the word ?dirtbag? verbally when referring to such people.
A few months ago my wife got a job offer in Northern Idaho and we took it. We moved to a small town and the difference between here and California is night and day. I finally feel like I fit in. People here are polite and relaxed. Most seem to have the same small town values I grew up with, with a live and let live attitude. Nobody hustles me for a buck when I go to the gas station. Nobody waves ?gimme money for beer? signs on the corners and I don?t fear for my wife?s safety when she goes out alone. I got a flat tire one day and spent more time talking to all the nice people who stopped and offered help than I did actually changing the tire.
What else is different here? We?ve got a fair mix of Native Americans here, a few Asians, but almost zero Hispanic or black population. The town is almost all white and that got me to thinking. Are whites somehow better than others? No, not really, we have plenty of white trash here. We just don?t have very many people, of any color, with a ghetto ?I?m gonna get mine, fuck you? attitude.
Maybe it?s a city vs. country thing. Maybe city people just generally suck, but in a small town you have to be polite to your neighbors because there are so few of us here it?s necessary for your survival. Maybe when you live in a city being ghetto is necessary for survival too? I don?t know. Maybe I?m just becoming a racist like I fear.
But I'm tryin', Ringo. I'm tryin' real hard to be a shepherd and to live like Martin said and judge people ??not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.?
Between my mother and father, I?ve got Mexican, Spanish, German, English, Native American and maybe some Russian blood running thru my veins. I?m your basic American mutt and have always considers myself ?white? in the same way you might say something is generic or plain. I have Mexican family members and very much love them and enjoy that part of my culture, but I didn?t feel like I was growing up in a Mexican family. My mom is about as white as you can get (though she makes a damn fine chorizo and eggs breakfast).
I grew up in a mostly white suburb north of Los Angeles, but never really thought of race much as a child. I just happen to have been born on the morning of April 4, 1968. My mother told me the story of waking up in the hospital the day after and crying when she read the newspaper saying Martin Luther King Jr. had been killed. When I was old enough to understand who MLK was, I heard that famous quote, ??a world where my children are judged by the content of their character?, and have felt that if we could get the world to follow his advise we would all be better off.
Growing up with friends of all races, I knew there were different kinds of people in the world, but also believed we were all basically the same, with the same wants and needs: a decent place to live, a good job, the chance to meet that someone special and maybe start a family, a safe town with good schools to raise kids in, a few good friends and the chance to cut loose have a little fun on occasion.
After school I went to work as a newspaper photojournalist. The best part of the job was meeting so many different kinds of people and learning about their lives. I spent time with people of every race from every walk of life and, in a small way, shared their joys, trials, triumphs, tribulations and sometimes even their deaths. During my career I developed what I feel is a healthy amount of empathy for my fellow man. I learned to see life through many different eyes and realized that most issues are not as simple as you might think when you see them from another person?s point of view.
After thirteen years of newspaper work I left so I could be at home to help raise my three kids. I went to work part time as a middle and elementary school librarian for a public school district. I also worked as a classroom technology aid, instructing students and helping teachers integrate technology into their lesson plans. Working with children is some of the most rewarding work I?ve ever done.
Several years ago my wife was transferred to a job in Vallejo, CA near San Francisco. It?s a heavily minority town with a significant ?ghetto? population. We spent almost four years in Northern California and, while I sincerely tried to fit in, I always felt like my personal ethics and culture were directly clashing with the ghetto mentality of most of the people (black, brown, yellow and white) I came into contact with. I couldn?t go to the store or gas station without someone getting in my face asking for money. My wife was afraid to go anywhere alone after several of her employees got mugged, beaten and robbed in the neighborhood surrounding her workplace.
Several years earlier I had been carjacked at knifepoint. I tried not to let it affect me, but as I saw the crime and ?ghetto-ness? of the people around me I began to develop a hatred of people. I began to hate the folks at the grocery store buying all their food with food stamps. I began saying ?get a fucking job? under my breath when people asked me for money at the gas station. I wanted to puke with I saw some drunk with a Vietnam Vet sign begging for money on the corner. Do any of those idiots realize you?d have to be close to 60 to have actually fought in the Vietnam War???
My family has never been exactly economically comfortable. It?s been a struggle to have one of us home with our kids. We?ve scrimped and sacrificed, but all around me it seemed like everyone had their hand out and expected someone else to fill it for them.
I got on the public bus one day and had to listen to a group of teens loudly bragging about who?d been to jail and what for. Every third word was either ?bitch?, ?fuck? or ?awesome dude?. Then they got on the topic of when they got their fist gun and how they?d first used it (I was given a .22 rifle at the age of 12, but I bet these guys never hunted rabbit in their lives). I sat shocked as around me the rest of the ?normal? folks kept their heads down and ignored them. Then a mother casually smacked the crap out of her kid for dropping a sippy-cup of juice and interrupting her cell phone conversation. I began screaming on the inside. This is madness. I?m not one of these people. I don?t belong here!
I started staying at home as much as I could. I didn?t want to have anything to do with the community in which I lived. I went to work and kept my head down. I had no friends and no social life outside of my own family. And then one day it happened.
On the news was a report of some crime and the video showed a bunch of black faces. I didn?t say it out loud, nobody heard me, but it my mind I heard it as clear as a bell: ?fucking n-words.?
I was shocked and disgusted with myself. I felt like I?d just donned a pointy white hood and joined the KKK. I reminded myself I had lots of black friends who I respected. I thought of all the many, many people of color I?d met in my lifetime who I admired. I thought of all the good that people of color had done in my community for others. I mentally chanted what MLK said, ??judged not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character? again and again.
Then I started thinking about my life experiences and everything I?d seen while working at the newspaper. That woman who got drunk and plowed into a family of 5, killing everyone except the baby in the car seat, yeah, she happened to be white, but she was a n-word. The guy who carjacked me, he happened to be Latino, but he was a n-word. The white guy on roller skates who ran into my truck, who angrily cussed me out and kicked a huge dent in my door when I got out to see if he was hurt, yeah, he was an n-word too. Those bangers on the bus, they happened to be black, every one of them was a mother fucking n-word.
At first I was almost OK with my mental use of the dreaded N-word. I figured that I was judging people just like MLK had said, on the content of their character not the color of their skin. Actions dictated if someone was an n-word or not. I was comfortable with that and started using the word ?dirtbag? verbally when referring to such people.
A few months ago my wife got a job offer in Northern Idaho and we took it. We moved to a small town and the difference between here and California is night and day. I finally feel like I fit in. People here are polite and relaxed. Most seem to have the same small town values I grew up with, with a live and let live attitude. Nobody hustles me for a buck when I go to the gas station. Nobody waves ?gimme money for beer? signs on the corners and I don?t fear for my wife?s safety when she goes out alone. I got a flat tire one day and spent more time talking to all the nice people who stopped and offered help than I did actually changing the tire.
What else is different here? We?ve got a fair mix of Native Americans here, a few Asians, but almost zero Hispanic or black population. The town is almost all white and that got me to thinking. Are whites somehow better than others? No, not really, we have plenty of white trash here. We just don?t have very many people, of any color, with a ghetto ?I?m gonna get mine, fuck you? attitude.
Maybe it?s a city vs. country thing. Maybe city people just generally suck, but in a small town you have to be polite to your neighbors because there are so few of us here it?s necessary for your survival. Maybe when you live in a city being ghetto is necessary for survival too? I don?t know. Maybe I?m just becoming a racist like I fear.
But I'm tryin', Ringo. I'm tryin' real hard to be a shepherd and to live like Martin said and judge people ??not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.?
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