Black…White…Gray

I grew up in a religious culture in which I learned life was very black and white; people were good or bad; you faithful or a doubtful. Redeemable, but if you sinned, you were bad. If you continued to sin, you were really bad. While this was not what the Bible, manuals, etc. taught; this was taught by those teaching the lessons. I was young and impressionable, so I believed what I was taught. This is an interesting concept to me because I have always been one who asks questions, so to easily follow something I was taught is not my life M.O. This is probably true of most people who grow up in religious backgrounds. Lessons teach God is very black and white. Life is very black and white. Rules are written and must be followed. I held on to this belief for a long time—too long.

There are some things in life that seem to contradict each other, but somehow, work. Christian rap, for example—two things that normally wouldn’t go together, but people enjoy listening to God’s word in rhymes. People experience things differently. Some people need rap music to hear inspiration from God. Who am I to say there is a right way to receive inspiration? I experience God in the quiet, so receiving inspiration through beats and rhymes is foreign to me. I don’t understand it, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It’s just different.

When I decided to study abroad in Greece, I left as a straight-laced, innocent young woman.  I returned with opened eyes, empathy, and a little boldness and bravery. Life wasn’t black and white; life was a lot of gray. People who believed differently than I did weren’t bad, just different. I owe much of this life lesson to my (now) best friend. On the first day of orientation, Ilya sat in the back of the room, a little hungover. He slept through most of the orientation. I thought he was rude and inconsiderate. From the moment I first met him, I didn’t like him. I am ashamed to say in now, but I judged him. I judged him hard. I knew he was bad, and we would never be friends. My judgment changed a couple days later. I saw him sitting on a bench outside our school. He looked sad. I don’t know why, but I felt compelled to go over and talk to him. After that conversation, my feelings toward him had softened. I learned a little about him, and my attitude towards him changed. From there, our friendship was all history. We became good friends. We went on a trip together a few weeks later. I saw how generous and caring he was. How wrong I was. From then on, I vowed to never make judgments on my first impression. I have done pretty well at doing so, too. People don’t believe me when I say I don’t remember first impressions of them, but I really don’t because I try to get to know people before I form an impression.

The next semester we both came back, and we decided to live together. I was taught it was wrong to live with the opposite sex until you’re married, but our relationship was different. We were best friends, and we needed each other. I called my parents to ask their permission. They told me I was an adult and could make my own decisions. My parents were always good at letting me be me. Ilya taught me how to be freer, have more fun, and open myself to more experiences. I had my first sip of alcohol with him, went to my first club, and traveled to Amsterdam; Ilya taught me how to mix a drink and play poker (I am good at one of those things and not so good at the other, lol). All things I thought were bad. I don’t find these activities bad now, but they are not something I do all the time. Ilya opened my life to gray. I was still a good girl, but I could have moments of imperfection. I could still be loved. I could still be forgiven. After all, no one is perfect. Not even me, as much as I tried to maintain that image.

Ilya taught me about myself. He helped me realize I was a writer. He challenged me to write poetry, and he always encouraged me when I shared the poetry I had written. Ilya never judged me, even though I had given him every reason to. Ilya helped me have empathy for people who made different life choices than I did. Some of that empathy can also be attributed to my friend Peter, who I also met in Greece. Peter and I were almost opposite in every way. Except we were both passionate and opinionated. Peter and I argued all the time. Big and loud fights. Fights I regret because they are not who I am, or how I want to represent myself. On my birthday in Greece, I didn’t invite Peter to the dinner because I didn’t want a fight, but I invited all our other mutual friends. Someone kindly told me I was being hurtful by not inviting him. So, I humbly handed him an invite. At the dinner, we had a great time. Peter bought me dessert. We shared a drink. We shared a kiss or two, haha. We had a good time. Peter acted like I hadn’t been a jerk to him. Peter taught me a lesson on how to be kind to people, even when they are not kind to you. Peter helped me become a better person.

Here is the best lesson I have learned: it’s easy to judge someone, but until you know what they are going through, you are the one wrongfully judging them. I will use addiction as a sample. People often see those who are battling addiction as wrong, or bad, or weak. I have known a few people who have battled addiction. It’s easy for someone without an addiction to say “just quit,” but quitting is not easy. My friend Travis once told me, he fought his addiction—sometimes with every ounce of his being—every day of his life. Another friend told me that even though he was in recovery, he was still an addict. He still had an addictive personality. He still wanted to do drugs when bad things happened, but he makes the conscience choice not to.

While I don’t have an addictive personality, I understand what it’s like to fight your demons. We all have them; they are different for everyone. I am a chronic overthinker. I will make a decision, and re-examine it in my mind from every angle. I will re-examine it, and re-hash it out in my mind. I will talk it over with my friends, and probably drive them crazy. Here’s the problem: when I overthink things: doubts get in my head. Even when I am sure about what I am overthinking. Even if I feel I have received inspiration from God. Revelation should be black and white, right? Not when people are involved. Just because God told me something, doesn’t mean the other person was told that, or they are following through with the revelation. I learned that lesson when I was told I was going to marry someone—guess what, we are not married. Sometimes the revelation comes with time, or different than I expected. People still have choices in the matter. And they may choose differently than what I was told, or how I would choose. They may choose differently than how I think they should choose, but it’s their right to choose.

If you don’t know what’s going on in people’s lives, you can’t judge them. You shouldn’t judge them if you do know what’s going on in their life, you should try to help them. Be their friend. Be their support.  People don’t wake up and decide to be addicts. Usually something leads them to the addiction: a tragic event; they are self-medicating, etc. An addiction does not a bad person make. Many addicts are good people, who need help. Let’s be honest, we all need help, some times.  I know I have needed help, and you never know how much your help could mean to someone.

I have had to practice these gray lessons a lot today during the pandemic. Today, I was passive-aggressively called an idiot because I don’t believe in wearing a mask. The person who said it knows this, and has made small digs at my beliefs all week long. I would never insult someone because of their personal beliefs. I don’t understand how people think bullying those who don’t believe the same as they do is an effective way of changing people’s minds. Because here’s the thing: you may look down on something other people choose to do, but the truth is, you don’t know what has happened in their life, and what has influenced them to form the opinions they do. I am stating it here: just because I do believe wearing a mask is a political issue and is a Constitutional choice, does not mean I don’t understand it’s also businesses’ rights to refuse to serve me. My anti-mask belief does not mean I don’t care about people or their health. I do. I just care about me first. Selfish or not, my health and my life are my priority. I have asthma, and wearing a mask troubles my breathing. So, I choose not to wear one; that’s my right as a human, especially as an American. I understand the risks, and I have made the decision which is best for me and my life. I am not afraid of contracting the virus because I have built up immunities. If I do contract the virus, I will move forward with life. No one likes when I say this, but if things happen in life, that’s how they are meant to happen. If people feel wearing a mask is the best decision for their life, it is their right to do so, and they should wear a mask. I will not mock them, or tell them not to do so. Lately, Americans are too busy policing other people. I am not a police officer, and I don’t want that job.

Here’s another thing that’s not black or white—race. Culture wants us to believe it’s black and white (Black versus White it feels like lately). Recently, it’s been a hot topic. You can’t tell a person’s color by looking at them. If you look at me, you would never be able to tell I have Creole and Native American (Canadian) ancestry. I know this because my Grandma traced our ancestry back for generations. There are scientific researchers who believe we all derived from African descent, which would mean we all have a little Black in our DNA. If we look at history books, Europe was conquered by other cultures, and there was a lot of cross-breeding going on –this tells me there is no pure race. Except the human race. It really bothers me because I am white people assume that I don’t understand other colors. I do. I have cousins from many different ethnicities—Cuban, Mexican, and Black. My Brother-in-law is Native American, which means my nieces and nephews are Native American. The twins are multi-racial.  I understand how difficult it is to buy a Non-White doll, especially one with fair eyes. I have bought a doll for all of my nieces. I have had a hard time finding each one of them dolls that looked like them. It was very important to get them a doll that looked like them because as a child I didn’t have a doll that looked like me. I remember when Ariel was introduced to the Disney universe. I loved her because she looked like me—she had red hair; it didn’t matter she was a mermaid. She had red hair. Every other princess before her was the same, but not Ariel; she was different. She looked like me. My cousin Danielle was not so lucky. She had a Black father and a White mother. There were no Barbie’s or dolls that looked like her. It’s a shame it took toy companies years to create dolls in other colors besides White. Every child needs toys they can relate to.

I also remember when my sister Kayla was about 4, she wanted a burping baby doll. My parents could only find her a Black one, so they bought it. Kayla didn’t care she wasn’t White, but other people did. This is a cultural problem, but that doesn’t mean all White people have that belief. One of my best friends is Black, but that’s not who she is to me. She’s Linda. A few weeks ago, she sent me an emoji. I realized her emoji was Black. It had never dawned on me before—I know she’s Black, but I look at her, and she is just my friend. I love her, and she is there for me when I need her. I hope she feels the same about me.

It bothers me that because I was born White, people assume I don’t understand White privilege. I do.  I understand White people have oppressed people for Centuries, but they have not just hurt people of color. Indentured servitude was used to hurt poor people-to enslave them for the benefit of the rich. But here’s the thing: I never owned slaves; I never belonged to the KKK. I did not push Asians into internment camps. I did not force people to leave their homes, so I could take their land. My ancestors did not either. These moments in history are deplorable, and we need to acknowledge them for what they were. A few bad apples doesn’t make an entire race bad, and it’s not just to judge an entire race based on a small group’s actions

Trying to make people pay for them now doesn’t make what happened all those years ago right or paid back. It makes people resentful, as we are currently seeing. Trying to erase our history only makes us doomed to repeat it. Clearly, we haven’t learned from that history—there is still slavery and racism happening in the world today. Young children are being kidnapped and forced into sexual slavery. Africans are enslaving one another. I have a friend, who was a slave in Zimbabwe when he was a child. I have seen the scars he carries from that time. Rwanda had a Civil War between those of lighter-Black skin and darker-Black skin. These issues are not just history and not just in America. As Americans we need to be mindful of using the term African-American when referring to Black people. Not everyone who is darker-skinned is from Africa. My sister once dated a man from Jamaica, and it bothered him when people called him African-American. He wasn’t from Africa. Not everyone who has darker skin is from Africa. It’s counterproductive for White people to call every Black person they meet African-American. That’s not doing justice to anyone’s cultural/ethnic differences.

We, as a global community, need to have a conversation about these issues. These issues will always be a problem as long as people are people. People will always look for a reason to dislike someone else. (I speak broadly). We need to learn to embrace others’ differences. I can’t do anything to remedy the mistakes of the past, but I can learn from them. As an avid reader, I have spent countless hours reading novels from other cultures. I took African-American and Native American literature courses. I read books about the Holocaust and the Jim Crowe days. Why? The writers of those novels have important voices, which should be heard. I cannot understand history or people’s experiences, if I don’t learn about them from their own voices. Admittedly, these have not always been pleasant reads. I cried when I read tales from The Trail of Tears. Currently I am reading Sherman Alexie’s The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian because I don’t know what it’s like to live on a reservation. I have seen movies, and read snippets, but I don’t really know. While I know reading these books and stories will never fully teach me a Non-White person’s experience, it can help me be more understanding of their situations. We need a more understanding society.

As many people know the Washington Redskins are changing their name and symbol. I asked someone, who is Native American, if the team’s name offended him because I saw conflicting reports on the offense of the team’s name. From that conversation, I learned some things. 1) Native Americans, especially older ones, are not really offended by the term. However, they are offended by the “White Man’s” use of the term to gain monetarily from their plight. 2) It’s okay in other cultures to call others slang names, but it’s not okay for White people to do so. For instance, he said it’s okay for a Native American to call another Native American a “redskin,” but it’s not okay for a White person to do so. Personally, this really bothers me. It bothers me to listen to rap music and hear the N word, but people are fired from their jobs for doing so because they are not of the same skin color. To me, using the N word in rap music is using the culture’s plight to gain monetarily. It’s a double standard, and you can’t have it both ways. To me, cultural slang is a black and white issue: derogatory terms are never okay. Just because the term Cracker doesn’t offend me, doesn’t mean other White people should call me that. These terms are still derogatory. However, societally speaking, this is a gray area. Cultures see no offense with calling each other those terms within the confines of the same culture.

I know with the Redskins changing their name, there have been calls for other sports teams to evaluate their names—Atlanta Braves and Kansas City Chiefs among others. These are Native American names I feel give honor to the indigenous culture. I remember watching Chiefs games when I was younger. During halftime, a Native America Chief used to ride out on a horse and do a dance. Several years ago that practice was changed because it was seen as culturally insensitive to Native Americans. The horse is still ridden out into the stadium, but the mascot is K.C. Wolf, who I thought was a rat. When I went to a game at Arrowhead a couple seasons ago, the team honored Native Americans.

While there are some practices that can be evaluated regarding the team, I just wonder: when will it stop? Cleveland Indians? Chicago Blackhawks, which are named after a Tribe. What about the Canucks? (While the term is attributed to Americans, it probably was not a flattering term). Should people who are steel workers be offended by the Pittsburgh nickname? Yankee used to be considered a derogatory term, will New York have to change their name? I watch sports as an escape from the real world, and now the real world is creeping in. I don’t want politics to be part of football or basketball. I understand many of the players feel the game is their platform, and it’s their right to use their platform how they see fit; I just wish the two were separate. I have learned to mute the beginning of game and just watch the game. Many may not feel it’s right, but if I don’t decompartmentalize, I will lose one of the things I love most: sports.

People look for reasons to be offended. I am not saying there are not legitimate reasons to be upset; there are, but as an American culture, we are offended by everything. (Again, generally, speaking). In our effort to be politically correct, we are hurting political correctness. We are hurting our country. We will never please everyone. We cannot. People are still people. If you’re looking for something bad, you will find it. Often, you don’t have to try hard. Long ago, but especially during the pandemic, I have stopped watching the news. More recently, I have stopped using social media as much as I used to. I rarely use Twitter now. On Facebook I participate in nothing political; I only post positive things. The news and social media are filled with negativity. I was becoming overwhelmed. It was weighing on my mental health, and I had to break myself away from it. I decided to only put positive energy out in the world. Understand, I complain in private, but I never publically voice those complaints. During these times, I have had to snooze many of my friends who were continuously posting about the virus or politics. I want to see the good in people’s lives, not be reminded of the bad in the world. Life was starting to feel like people wanted things to be bad, to not get better. “Colleges are not going back;” “We’re all going to get sick;” “Your vacation is going to get cancelled;” “There’s going to be no sports” to name a few. During these times we need to have hope, and it was starting to feel like people were disappointed that life wasn’t getting better.

Growing up, my nickname was Sunshine because I put light into the world. I want to do that now. I do not consider myself a pessimist, though there is a lot to be pessimistic about, and I have my moments. I do not consider myself an optimist, either. I am a realist. William A. Ward expressed it well when he said, “The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails.” A lot of bad things have happened in my life. I could dwell on them and let them weigh me down. I could wish them to be better, but wishing them to be better won’t change how they are.  I have survived 100% of the bad days in my life, and I will continue to do so. I am strong. I am competent. I am resilient. Sometimes my life plays out differently than I wish it would, but you can’t change the way things are; you can only adjust to how they are now.  You have to learn to deal with life as it happens.

If you’re looking for anything to prove your point, you will find it. We all have biases. When I was writing my dissertation, I had to write my biases regarding the topic in Chapter 3. People see what they want to see. It’s in listening to other’s opinions where we learn about ourselves, others, and the world. Don’t get me wrong: I like being right. I have been a right fighter since birth. I come by it honestly—my mom is a right fighter, and it is because of her right fighting I have the life I do and am the woman I am today. If I have an opinion, I know it’s right, and you’re not going to change it. I will stubbornly defend that choice. Just because I don’t agree with someone, doesn’t mean I can’t still love them and respect them. After all, life is about learning to blur the lines between black and white and live in the gray.