Be brave, Chose Love

I had a talk with a colored woman the other day. She's older and seems very comfortable with talking about the obvious differences between people. I'd never really thought of Oregon as a racist place, seems I might be a little off the mark.

She could tell me little stories that obvious showed her witnessing or being the subject of racism. She seemed to look at it as being a minority rather than just being black, and had grown up in DC. It was really upsetting to listen to, and left me thinking about what really is the difference between white and anything else, really? (I happen to be white so of course my mind starts there as self centered a point to take as it maybe.)

Before we ended our conversation I told her about how I'd grown up in a very small town and never really knew anyone of color until middle school. I then told her how I'd always been fascinated with people with darker skin colors and tightly curled hair. To me those are beautiful traits, and if I could design myself I would at the lest have hair more like a colored person than my own. (I didn't say that I would like to have hair like her's but we did talk about the difference in her hair and my own. In fact we started talking because she had complimented my hair cut and I had in turn told her how lovely I found her hair to be.) 

But I digress, I was telling her about having not grown up around people of color and then there being a young girl of my age  who moved into town. Luck even had it that we shared a home-room class, and even more lucky that this young girl was Jennifer Cartwright. I can still remember approaching her with little tact and much gusto, telling her that I thought she was really beautiful and asking if I could please touch her skin. Jennifer was nice enough to let me, and just smiled. I was very, very excited, and obviously it has stayed with me. 

The lady I was talking to smiled at the story and said she was glad I'd had that experience. When we went to part ways I told her "Thank you for talking with me, I don't often get this chance and I really enjoyed it." She seemed a bit embarrassed but squeezed my hand warmly, telling me that she had enjoyed our talk as well. I look forward to seeing here again at Temple, and getting to know her, and the other people I'm meeting there.

The point I want to make is that for me it seems silly that there is racism going on here in Oregon. We aren't the south who must still struggle with what we were raised with, or are we? Most my friends have been fairly open minded and at lest openly accepting of people of all races. Every time I have encountered racism in someone I love or care about it has caused me great pause, and in some cases to completely change my opinion of a person.

I know that this is a part of the culture that I belong to, and yet my heart rebels at the mere thought. To think that just the color of a person's skin, the shape of their eyes, their genetic disposition to grow facial hair or to have dark hair could influence so greatly their personality and their innate morals as to make them a subject of ridicule is just something that I cannot understand. I can understand not liking some of the cultural practices of other peoples, but not liking an entire race? I just don't understand.

People are people. We all want and need the same basic things in life. Why must we give into the reptilian parts of our brain and continue in this small minded endeavor? Love, while often harder, is the more rewarding path. 

Be brave, Chose Love.