Overall Impressions

It isn't the overt racism that cuts the deepest, though I still sport some nice scars. No, it's the casual racism, the off-hand comment, that twists and burns. Some African-Americans have gone on record as preferring the South to the North because in the South, the racism was in the open. In the north, politeness and social mores cloaked it.

Most of my life has been spent around the Mason-Dixon line, the traditional demarcation between North and South. I have never really had to deal with one extreme or the other. Or, if I had, I was too oblivious to notice. For a while, I even exploited it myself, using Chinese-accented English to throw people off-guard. I understand Dave Chapelle's dilemma when he left the set of his show. You cross a fine line using stereotypes for humorous purposes.

There was no one moment when I suddenly realized not everyone laughed with me. It was a slow roll, a boulder gathering downhill speed. Yet another piece of my childhood eroded by the rough seas of the real world.

Did I contribute? Yes, and I was wrong. But this is the world I have to live in. It reminds me of an occasion when I went to Taiwan. At first glance, I fit in. So disconcerting, yet so invigorating. I knew it would take about 10 seconds of talking to me for me to be outed, but at least I could walk down the street and not have to worry about why someone was staring at me.

In a department store, I think it was Carrefour, there was an old African man walking around in overalls. A blanched-white ring of hair crowned his head, much as a monk would submit to a tonsure. Everyone, me included, stared at him. Again, I failed. But the way he carried himself. He went about his business without thought or care as to everyone around him. Whether or not our stares tore him up inside, we would never see.

It bothers me that I cannot bear this millstone. It bothers me that I think I have to bear the racism like a millstone. It bothers me that I cannot cocnfront it.

And really, the incident that inspired this post could have been an incidence of comfort more than racism. I went to Sam's Club for bulk provisions. While leaving and waiting for the employee to cross-check my receipt against the contents of my cart, three African-American women in front of me were ushered right on through. The employee, also an African-American woman, barely glanced at the one cart, and each of their separate receipts. Even joked with them. Then, I came up, and the counted and checked each of the seven items in my cart to make sure I hadn't stolen anything.

Yes, it might have just been she felt more comfortable with the women than me. I sometimes furrow my brows when lost in thought, as I was while waiting with nothing to do. It could also be that I've gotten overly sensitive and need thicker skin. It could be she saw me and noticed something that made her suspect I was dishonest. I don't know. I have been wrong plenty of times. But can I really have been wrong every single time?

(This really isn't an April Fool's Day joke, unless you approach it from the vector that racism is a horrible joke. In which case, I am the (April) Fool somehow.)