A Mommy Story

Last night we visited with Aaron’s dad and stepmom, who had just come back from a trip to Israel. On the way to their house, Aaron asked me to stop and get some sodas.

Now, Aaron’s parents live in the inner-city of Columbus. Stop laughing, we really do have an inner-city. It’s certainly no Detroit, but this neighborhood has a high crime rate and you can still see the prostitutes walking the streets at dusk. It’s also still primarily a minority neighborhood, although it is currently undergoing a “revitalization” where people are buying these large Victorian houses and restoring them to their former glory. Aaron’s parents were some of the first to start this, years ago. Aaron would love to eventually move back to that neighborhood, but he’s getting a lot of resistance from me, the small-town girl.

When I stopped at the gas station near their house last night, I was reminded why I’m not ready to move there yet. I grabbed a few sodas and got in line to pay for them. A minute or so later, when there was only one man in front of me, a short, round African-American woman walked up next to me and looked me up and down with a gruff look on her face. Then, she stepped ahead of me in line, muttering something involving the word “white…” I didn’t hear the second word, so I have no idea what she referred to me as, other than white.

I was so shocked I didn’t say anything as she put her Combos on the counter to pay for them. I glanced around and realized I was the only white person in the store. I hadn’t even noticed until this woman made race such an issue. Why did she cut in front of me? Why did she think I was less of a person than her?

Even though I have a racist father (who I wasn’t raised by, thank goodness!), I’ve never thought much about the color of a person’s skin. Sure, I’m white as a ghost, but I certainly don’t think that makes me different somehow, other than needing to be in the sun less than others. Truthfully, I envy those who can stay in the sun longer! What the hell is up with people thinking skin color has anything to do with you as a person? We’re all people, right?

If I’m going to judge anyone, I do it based on what comes out of their mouth, not by what they look like. And I’m certainly not referring to what language or dialect a person speaks, either. I do categorize people based on whether I think they can rub two brain cells together and create a spark. (And I’m talking about a person’s intelligence, not education, which are two different things entirely.) Even then, I still think we all deserve to be treated with respect.

Racism is silly to me. Should I ever think I’m better than someone because of my race, I only need to think back to the history of my people: “Irish need not apply.”

To end this rant, I want to thank the other African-American lady I met yesterday as we were leaving Aaron’s parent’s house. I was still feeling hurt and stunned by the woman at the gas station, when this lady with a large smile walked by, took one look at Cordy and said, “Look at that beautiful baby! You are so blessed!” She stopped and we chatted for a minute about babies and laughed about Cordy’s temper while we put Cordy in the car. And I left thinking, “Maybe someday we can consider moving here.”

And, for those who wanted to see the JC Penney pictures, here are the good ones. Yes, I did send a complaint letter about the horrible service we had with them.