Monday, March 15, 2010

I'm not predjudiced, but. . .

Hate is such a rotten thing. That people think nothing of passing it down to their children just because their parents gave it to them. It's such a sad thing.

I'm sure most people have had negative experiences in their life at some time or another with a minority member. I have. But I've also had black mentors. I've had black people hug me when I was hurting. I've had black people help me when there was nothing in it for them. I've had black people pray for me with passion.

But many stories I hear are about a black person doing something lazy, illegal, or whatever. There are lazy white criminals too though. Tolerance people. Get some.

But if they can't bring themselves to not hate people they've stereotyped, then consider this: Beastiality, racketeering, serial killing, insider trading, copywright infringement, intellectual theft, counterfeitting and MANY other crimes are committed almost exclusively by white people. It reminds me of the Dave Chapelle skit about the blind black guy that joins the KKK but no one told him he's black. We all came from the same ancestors. Whether you're a christian or an athiest, then you probably believe we're all related. Think.

If you often tell negative stories about blacks or hispanics, prefacing the story with the phrase, "I'm not predjudiced, but. . ." doesn't mean you're not predjudiced. It just means you want to say something racist without openly declaring your bigotry. Silly racists.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Facebook

Most of us have reconnected with friends we've found on facebook. Someone we haven't spoken to in years and suddenly, whaddyaknow? They're the friend of a friend and pop up in your "suggested friends" list.

As a teenager I had 5 friends that meant the world to me. Bryant, Tonya, Vanessa, Missy and Jill. Like most BFF teenagers, we hung out A LOT. I friended them all on facebook and they all accepted.

Tonya wrote me back an message immediately and I could tell she was as excited to find me as I was to find her. We traded several long messages catching up about our current families and stuff that had happened to us over the last 20 years and I felt like I had a true friend in this world back in my circle.

The other 4 though accepted my friend request, but responded with little more than an innocuous comment saying hi. In one case, no comment at all.

They all have families now and clearly have moved on and that's great. I wish them the best. I have a wonderful family too and spend my time in the here and now. But I remember those days.

I remember some 30 year old staring at Jill after she turned 15 (and had filled out a little) out at a pool and wanting to stomp the perv's head in. I remember stopping a mailman from choking Bryant after Bryant called him something not-so-nice and getting drunk every weekend. I remember Missy dropping me to the floor with a surprisingly vicious right hook after I scared the crap out of her once. I remember holding hands once with Tonya on a bus and hoping the bus ride would never end. I remember making fake vomit with Vanessa one night at about 3 in the morning and dumping it on a neighbor's porch.

The fact that most of these friends could acknowledge me with nothing more than a cursory "hello" kinda hurts. I guess seeing me doesn't conjure up old memories for them. It sure does for me.

I know this is so cliche, but it's true. You can never go home again.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

My Best Days

Hard to choose your best day. When my 1st kid was born. The day I got married. Running up a quarter-mile hill made of nothing but football sized rocks with the other squad leaders and drill instructor staff sergeant Pilakowski in boot camp. The day my wife and I opened the small folded piece of paper from the ultrasound tech telling us we were going to have the boy my wife had wanted for so long. The day I stood up to Rick the big bully at work. The day my dad told me he was proud of me. The 1st day I took my family to Disney World. One day in 8th grade when gorgeous little Mari-Beth Lobdell told me she needed a cute guy to hold her and put both arms around me. The day a surgeon told me he knew exactly what was wrong with me after I'd been to half a dozen doctors and specialists after spending a year and a half sick. Trying to act casual while my heart was pounding asking my wife out for the 1st time and having her respond, "How about Friday?". And lots of other days in between.