White pride

Okay, first of all, I am going to be politically incorrect here and use the terms White and Black because a) I have read and heard a number of Black people say they prefer those terms and b) it is faster and easier to type. Please know that when I say Black, I mean a person of African ancestry with brown skin, and when I say White, I mean a person lacking melanin of some European ancestry with much, much lighter brown skin.

The other day I did something that, in retrospect, was quite ironic, but it was what it was, and it's been bothering me, so I'm writing about it. (This is, by the way, my 3rd attempt to write about it, and I'm not sure this will get published either.)

I went out of my way to say hi to a Black lady at soccer. Not because I am a genuinely friendly person, but because she was the only Black mom there, and I didn't want her to feel a certain feeling I like to call I-was-the-only-Black-person-there-and-not-a-single-soul-talked-to-me.

It was one of the coolest conversations I was ever a part of. Not cool as in awesome. Cool as in, frigid, Antarctic, penguin exhibit cool. Cold.

It rapidly became apparent that this classy beautiful woman with her ducks in a row and every hair in place DID NOT NEED my condescension. She didn't need my pity. She certainly didn't need me to be the ambassador for all the White people, the trans-racial welcome wagon.

I only went over because she was Black. She knew it, and I knew it. It was a racist gesture. Well intentioned, but racist. Putting people in a box with everyone else who looks something like them, even if it is a much better box than they were in 50 years ago, is still racism.

What made matters worse was that I was a lousy pick for ambassador. I was looking pretty much my worst. I had a trail of small people following me that were probably dressed for warm, not for style or matching for that matter. And I was carrying the delight of my life, whose hair had not been washed or styled, clothes not matching, looking very uncared for.

I was a fat frumpy White woman with a passel of children, fresh from the shoe, carrying my unkept Black daughter, fairly screaming, "I THINK I AM BETTER THAN YOU!"

Part of why I keep rewriting this is that I don't have an end, a moral, a lesson. I only know that what I tried to do backfired badly.

It is agonizing - I want to make racism go away, and yet, with my very actions, I reveal myself to be a racist.

Skin is skin. I know. When my daughter has a scab and it comes off, her skin is the same as mine. We are the same. All the people in my house (even before she arrived) are different colored and have different noses and eyes and lips and hair. Not one of us is the same. And it doesn't mean anything!!!!!

Help, God. Help us to love each of the people You made because You made them. Help us stop trying to measure and categorize each other. Help us to walk in humility and wisdom. Help us forgive each other. Forgive me for my arrogance in thinking that woman needed me. Bless her Lord. Fill her tank with Your beauty and Your love for her. Help her forgive the arrogant White frumpy chick who tried to make her feel comfortable. Give me wisdom next time around. Make my heart line up with Your heart regarding all of our differences and samenesses. Amen.