I am a Caucasian woman, or “White” as it were. I have always found the term “White” mildly amusing. My skin is not actually white. It is more of a pink/peach hybrid. Except for in the dead of winter. Then I am the whitest and pastiest person that you ever did see.
My friend Kelly over at Mocha Momma (She is beautiful, no?) wrote an interesting post about race and people of colour. In email/Twitter conversations, I told her that I was befuddled at the whole “racism” thing (Hello! It’s 2008, you ignoramuses!), and that I had been stewing on a post about it. I promised her I would write one, so here I go.
As I stated above, I am White. Fair skin and blue eyes. I have brown hair, so I am not as pale as some white folks.
(Side note: Organizations that exclude people (and torment people) based on their skin colour? “In the name of God“? MAKE NO SENSE. Jesus (Son of God) was a Jewish man. No blonde hair or blue eyes to be seen. Maybe read the Bible that you claim to be doing things in the name of.)
Based on the white skin and blue eyes, I have never felt the brunt of racism. I have felt excluded from social circles due to the fact that I was chubby, and brainy, and a little clumsy, but never due to the colour of my skin.
I had friends, however, who did go through this unjustifiable judgment.
I grew up in Small Town BC (Small Town = Small Minds? Sometimes. At least in my experience). I was one who would befriend anyone who would hang out with my awkward self. In my youth I heard racial slurs against people in our community who came from a wide array of backgrounds. Native Indians (First Nations), Portuguese, East Indians, African Americans (African Canadians?). I did not partake of such slurs, but did not really stand up against them either. Which makes me just as guilty.
As I grew up, I met God (Lover of ALL), and distanced myself from people who spewed racial crap. My good friends in high school were a collection of beautiful people, with an large spectrum of different family heritages. I did not pick my friends based on the colour of their skin. I picked them based on the character of their heart.
In my early twenties I headed to Ontario to visit with extended family. Shortly after I was born (in Ontario), my parents moved to BC. My cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents were all Back East. I spent a week or so at my aunt’s house, then headed out to visit my Nana and Papa.
Nana and Papa were Good People. Always encouraging, always supportive, always full of love for me. They are no longer living, so I mean them no disrespect when I say that they were Racist with a capital R. It was how they were raised, I supposed. What was “normal” to them.
In the few short days that I spent with them, racial slurs and derogatory comments rolled off of their tongues as easily as their encouraging comments about their pride in me did. I will not relay what they actually said, as I do not think those phrases and terms need repeating. I was young, and naive, and stupid. I also had not seen them in ten years, and was really just getting to know them.
All I could do when they made such comments?
Was *blink* in shock that they actually said what they just had.
One point that I think is safe to share has a bit of irony to it. My Papa was from England. He was gruff, and LOUD, and had a rowdy English accent. He would get all riled up about “the immigrants”.
Um. He was from ENGLAND. WHICH WOULD MAKE HIM AN IMMIGRANT.
Seriously.
I spent the first half of my twenties in Vancouver, which is a great melting pot of cultures. Before meeting Matthew, I went on dates with guys from various backgrounds. Some were white, many were not. My criteria was simple. 1) Do they have a great heart? and 2) Are they HAWT?
I am so deep.
I guess what I am trying to say is that skin colour does not really register with me. I am not “legally” colour blind so I (of course) notice what the skin colour is of people I meet. Just as I notice their eye colour, their hair colour (and style!) and the shade of their lips. Also? Their shoes.
The external pieces all come together to form the unique and beautiful PERSON who is made up of all those parts.
I think the world would be a better place if people where no longer judged based on the colour of their skin, but rather judged on the character of their heart.
Don’t you?
I am guest posting over at Loralee’s today. Please be a doll and come over to say hello there, if you would be so kind. I don’t want to feel like I am standing there with my pants down. Please don’t visualize that, because it is not pretty. I have had three kids, yo.
My original plan over here was to do a sweet post about Emily and her peeps.
I am not a quitter. It goes against my very being.
I have been blessed/cursed with a work ethic that is almost unrealistic. I have tried to take it down a notch for sanity’s sake, but that has still left me in the realm of what the average person would call “Borderline Crazy”.
In addition to this Work Ethic of Epic Proportions, I am a People Pleaser. A great combination all around. Not for me, per se, but for everybody on the receiving end. They truly get the sweet end of the deal.
I have been teaching myself to let go a little. To let go of the things that are no longer a joy in my life. To let go of the things that burden me, that weigh me down. I want to travel light.
Shhh. Be Vewy Quiet. We Are Hunting Wabbits Easter Eggs.
Date: Monday March 24, 2008Posted in: Emily, Faith, Family, Friends, Graham, Nathan
We started Easter Sunday all gussied up for the Resurrection service. I thought that a photo shoot was in order, despite the chilly weather.
(It rains approximately four days a year here. TODAY WAS ONE OF THOSE FOUR. It was only for about a half an hour, BUT STILL.)
I forced the kids outside sans jackets in the hopes of some shots of their glorious cuteness.
Don’t they look thrilled?
I am an idiot. This is not news, but seriously.
At least I get an “A” for effort.
So. Yeah. You guys are awesome.
Between the comments and the emails, I felt like I had this great community of friends surrounding me. I feel supported and (do not let the syrup gag you) loved.
To clarify something important, I am not depressed. Depression is an ugly beast that I have not wrestled with. I have many people close to me who struggle with it, and it is absolutely awful.
A few people pointed out that they had no idea how I was feeling, as I always come across as so “cheery” and “up”.
The truth is, I am an Eternal Optimist. Even when I am battling things inside, my outer appearance is of the chipper sort. It is not a show; I simply exude (annoying) happiness most of the time, regardless of how I am feeling. I honestly cannot help it. Shoot me, PLEASE. Put me out of my (giddy) misery.
What this means is that if I am brought to tears it is usually something of great proportion. Or, you know, PMS.
Same difference.
