Grandfathered In to Racism

Racism is a touchy subject for most. Even those who recognize that it still exists in our everyday lives prefer not to talk much about it. It's one of those topics that isn't likely to be brought up over dinner or at a party. At least, not if you're white. One of the many unearned privileges of being white in America is not having to spend much time thinking about racism. Not if you don't want to.

And why wouldn't whites feel a need to spend time concerned with this? Because they are...

* ...less likely than blacks to be arrested; once arrested, they are less likely to be convicted and, once convicted, less likely to go to prison, regardless of the crime or circumstances. Whites, for example, constitute 85 percent of those who use illegal drugs, but less than half of those in prison on drug-use charges are white.

*...more likely than comparable blacks to have loan applications approved and more likely to be given poor information or the runaround during the application process.

*...charged lower prices for new and used cars than are people of color, and residential segregation gives whites access to higher-quality goods of all kinds at cheaper prices.

*...represented in government and the ruling circles of corporations, universities, and other organizations at disproportionately high ratios.

*... disproportionately cast as national heroes, success models, and other figures held up for general admiration.

*...more likely to have greater access to quality education and health care.

*...much more likely to succeed without other people being surprised by this.

*...more likely to reasonably expect that if they "play by the rules" and work hard they'll get what they deserve, and feel justified complaining if they don't.

*...not likely to have to deal with an endless and exhausting stream of attention to their race. They can simply take their race for granted as unremarkable to the extent of experiencing themselves as not even having a race.

I'm almost surprised when I hear people argue that our country has somehow moved past all this. "For God's sakes, we have a Black president now. Stop playing the race card!" they'll say. They, of course, being whites. It's easy to say something doesn't exist when you or someone you love doesn't have to face it's consequences each day.

Generally when people do talk about racism they feel most comfortable keeping it confined to the words and actions of fanatics. White supremists. The Klan. Even many of our grandfathers.

You can't help but notice much of the explicitly racist things you hear tend to come out the mouths, or from the fingertips, of older people. The vast majority of us have that aunt, grandmother, or even parent who might say something about Blacks, Mexicans, or Asian-Americans. The comments that make you cringe - at least for a moment - to know you somehow share a collection of genes.

When older people say these sorts of things they are often defended with the old "Well, he's just a product of his generation. Things were different back in his day."

And it's true. Things were.

Twelve of our Presidents were enslavers of human beings. Of these, half actually kept people in bondage right there in the White House. In fact, the White House was built with slave labor (Initially George Washington - hero to many -wanted to use foreign labor to build the White House but after learning how expensive it would be turned to slaves instead).

George Washington spoke out against slavery yet held them captive at the same time. He did everything he could to ensure that the 300 people he held in bondage could not secure their freedom. When one of his slaves, Oney Judge, did escape before being "gifted" to a Washington granddaughter, GW tried repeatedly to trick her back into slavery.

Thomas Jefferson, our second president, spoke against the principles of slavery yet also spoke out against blacks, saying things such as "Comparing them by their faculties of memory, reason, and imagination, it appears to me, that in memory they are equal to the whites; in reason much inferior...and that in imagination they are dull, tasteless, and anomalous." Oh yeah, and he also held and raped slaves. So there's that, too.

Theodore Roosevelt, whose face is carved into Mount Rushmore, once said "I don't go so far as to think that the only good Indians are dead Indians, but I believe nine out of ten are, and I shouldn't like to inquire too closely into the case of the tenth."

So should we hold these men responsible for their words and actions given that they were living in a time when such thoughts were widely held? Is that enough for a free pass?

Not according to Robert Jensen who argues we should ask ourselves "Were there any people expressing alternative ideas at the time?"

In the time of Jefferson there were a number, one of which was Thomas Paine. Paine was an opponent of slavery, writing an anti-slavery article for the Pennsylvania Journal and the Weekly Advertiser. In this, he presented a clear condemnation of slavery and the Americans who supported it. By the time Roosevelt came around there were many, many more. By the time our aunts, grandmothers, and parents were born there were entire movements working to disrupt and challenge racism.

So, yeah, I tend to think we can hold them accountable. All of them. No matter how old or young they may be.

There's a blog I recently found called My Right Wing Dad: An Interpretive Center and Archive for Right Wing Forwards. On it, people post and critique the emails that get forwarded among a group of ultra-conservatives. There are ninety (yes, ninety!) under the "Racism" tab. The one at the top right now (comparing Michelle Obama to a chimp) is as overtly racist and disgusting as any "joke" could be. And these are from so-called "Christians."

My friend Melanie recently posted her feelings, as a Christian, of those who represent her, her beliefs, and her God in such a hateful and inhuman manner. I have many other friends and family who feel the same way. And I can understand this. We should neither judge nor dismiss someone for their religion. Or their age. Or their upbringing.

But we should hold them accountable.

Happy Thirteen

Thirteen years ago today Harper Hass was born. Tricia woke up around 5 am with labor pains. We dutifully timed them, just as we had been taught. At first they were eight or nine minutes apart. But they kept creeping closer and closer to one another. We stayed calm and tried to keep to our normal morning routine. We knew it would do no good to get to the hospital early.

Finally around 8:30 or so we loaded up our bag and drove to Barnes Jewish Hospital. Driving to the hospital knowing you're about to have a baby is a surreal experience. You're surrounded by all these people in their cars doing completely ordinary things - going to work, running to the grocery store, heading to the gym. Yet we were right in the middle of them all, knowing this morning was anything but ordinary.

By the time Tricia was checked in it was probably a little after 9:00. Thirteen hours later, at 10:10 pm, Harper finally came. She was screaming and more than a bit slimy. The doctor asked if I wanted to cut the umbilical cord. "Uh...no," I responded. Everyone in the room looked at me as though I were some sort of schmuck. "You should do it," they said. I stuck to my guns. Yuck.

We stayed at the hospital for the next three days and tried to pretend like we were parents. That was easy to do. It wasn't until we brought her home that it felt much more real. And probably a little scary. But we survived. And so did she.

We lived in the city in St. Louis at that time. After checking out a number of daycare options we decided it made more sense for one of us to stay home. So I became Mr. Mom. I did the diapers and bottles and nap schedule. I pushed the stroller, visited the zoo, and set up play dates.

We both doted. Too much. We thought to be good parents meant to commit every single second to playing, reading, holding, singing, and watching. Lots of parents do this. By the time Ainsley came a few years later we learned to still do all these things but to also give our kids time to be on their own.

Harper was, and still is, easy. She always did just what you'd want her to and told us every day how much she loved her family. She made friends easily and smiled and smiled and smiled.

When she was five years old we moved to South Carolina and she started kindergarten. Starting school meant we would no longer be her whole world. There were many new influences. Harper loved her teacher. She especially loved Mrs. Mattox's southern accent. So much so, she immediately started creating one for herself. She still has it, that knack for stretching one-syllable words into two.

When she was in kindergarten she did a research project on corn snakes. I had one in my classroom at the time and she was excited to share it with her friends. I remember hiding the snake in the front pocket of my hoodie and then pulling it out when the time came for her to show it to her classmates. Her teacher was horrified. Harper was not. She was fearless.

In the years since, Harper has matured. And grown. There have been many changes. She's thirteen now and she likes to spend most the day hanging out in her bedroom. While her brothers and sister still engage in imaginative play she feels too big for this. She'd rather text her friends. Or write in her journal. Or listen to country music. Yes, country music.

 

She loves horses. And art. And school. 

She hates waking up. 

And cleaning up.

Harper Hass is now thirteen. A teenager. Which leads me to wonder...

How can Tricia and I possibly be old enough to have a teenager?

i-Tunes Gift Card

I used to have quite a CD collection. The first two discs I ever bought were John Lennon Live in New York City and the Beatles compilation Past Masters, Part 1. That was probably in 1985 or so. Over the next twenty years I collected many more. Some came from the music clubs I found advertising in magazines. I could pick ten CDs for a penny apiece (just rip out the little sticker with the album cover on, stick it to the application, and tape a penny on) and then agree to buy six more over the next year at full price. Given that CDs were about ten bucks at the store, I never did understand how they made a profit. Ten CDs for a dime?

Anyway, I did it and got all sorts of music I'd otherwise never have purchased (maybe this was the catch). I was turned on to lots of blues like Robert Cray, Albert King, and John Lee Hooker. Sometimes I couldn't find anything at all I wanted and just randomly picked something. This is how I wound up with the Big Head Todd and the Monsters CD.

Most of my CDs, however, came from our local music store, Vintage Vinyl. It was a cool place where all the guys behind the counter wore concert t-shirts and had tattoos up and down their arms. It was the type of place where you knew you'd be okay if you showed up at the counter with a Butthole Surfers CD but not a Rick Astley disc. I mean, they wouldn't outwardly ridicule you but you'd know what they were thinking.

Somewhere along the way music became digital and the days of the CD began to fade away. My collection was somewhat of a storage issue so I decided to save them all to my computer and then sell the physical copies for about $3 apiece. Well, I didn't get that much for them. And then my computer crashed.

All that music. Gone.

In the years since, I have saved the few CDs I have remaining to my iTunes account although I still keep them stashed under my bed. I still have all the blues stuff and about a dozen Miles Davis CDs. There's a few rock ones too but not much. Smashing Pumpkins. Elliot Smith. The Jellyfish. Stray Cats. The Black Crowes. Eric Clapton.

These days I get my music from the iTunes store. More often than not I buy one song at a time from various artists and "albums." It's not the same. I miss the liner art and liner notes. I miss the smell of the paper and the credits. But most of all I miss the opportunity to outgrow the radio hit and fall in love with the little known B-side that takes time to grow on you. Of course, I could still do this - buy the whole album- but I don't that often.

For Christmas I received two $25 iTune cards - one from my mom and another from a student. I'm overwhelmed by choices. What to buy? I could begin rebuilding my Beatles collection. Or find more music from the Fleet Foxes since I love the one album of theirs I have. Or pick thirty-five separate songs to fill out a new playlist. Or grab a Pete Seeger compilation, now that he's gone, to remind myself why he was so cool. Or pick a sub-genre like "acid rock" and see what I don't have. Or ask my friends for recommendations of music I've never even tried. Or, as I have done for the past month, let the gift certificates sit in my backpack as I continue to think.

So many choices.

Urgent Care

Last week, during our Thanksgiving Break, I took Mulken to Urgent Care to have an x-ray taken from his hand. He had twisted it awkwardly and then fallen on top of it during PE. Well, not technically DURING gym class but while he sitting on the floor goofing around before the teacher was ready to begin. Earlier this year Ty broke his arm at school during Sports Club. Well, not DURING sports club. It was while goofing around in line after sports club. Huh, a pattern?

Anyway, it was a rainy morning and I was supposed to drop the girls off at the horse farm for a lesson and then take Muluken to the doctor. But because the rain wouldn't relent I wound up sitting in the tiny waiting room with both Muluken and the girls. Waiting. And waiting. If our kids were allowed to carry around electronics during every part of the day they would have had their faces buried in Instagram posts or Mine Craft. Probably, this would have made the waiting room more bearable.

As it was the only thing we had to distract ourselves was a rack of magazines and a really loud television blaring down at us from above. I wanted to choose the magazines, I really did. But I saw the 700 Club was on and having seen it just a few months ago in another waiting room (Jiffy Lube's) I couldn't resist an opportunity to sit and become annoyed by the farce that is Pat Robertson. Why do we voluntarily do this to ourselves?

I squirmed. I sighed. I asked out loud to anyone who would listen, "Is Urgent Care a religious organization?" A few people met my gaze but no one responded. I sighed again and slouched in my chair. Looking over I saw that all three of my kids were watching me. And Harper was smirking.

"What?" I asked. "Why would they put this on in a waiting room?"

Harper and I are religious opposites. She goes to church every Sunday morning and most weeks she attends a Wednesday night youth group. I on the other hand...well, I don't. So I'm careful in how I relate my discomfort with some actions of organized religion. I want Harper to consider multiple perspectives on religion yet still feel supported in making her own decisions. As for me, I appreciate that people feel so fulfilled by their convictions and beliefs. I don't necessarily appreciate when they use those same beliefs to try to coerce (with sponsored charity), guilt (with conditional acceptance or love), or threaten (with condemnation) non-believers or those of other religions.

Guess who does coerce and condemn? A lot? I mean....a whole, whole lot?

Pat Robertson.

In our half hour of sitting there Pat Robertson showed us how God and the 700 Club helps poor black kids.  "What's wrong with that?" Muluken asked. "Nothing is wrong with helping others," I responded. "But before this commercial how many other black people have we seen on this channel? You know, other than the ones that are poor and need to be supported? Yes, we need to help those in need. But how is this show and all it's commericals for other programs on this channel portraying black people?"

In our time there Pat Robertson and his co-host jointed hands, squinted their eyes shut real tight, and prayed for God to heal their viewers of headaches and stomach aches. This was followed by a short testimonial from a woman who had been to numerous doctors for stomach pain. She had nearly missed Thanksgiving as she sat on her couch in great discomfort. But then Pat Robertson had led a prayer through the television and she felt God reach down and take away her pain. Thanksgiving was saved. The kids really enjoyed watching me during this segment. "What?" I blurted out. "Stop staring at me." "Dad," Harper said, "The look on your face is hilarious!" "Well," I answered, "this is ridiculous. Really, he's healing people through the television. I guess none of us even needed to come to Urgent Care today. We just needed to watch the 700 Club. And I love that he's helping God do this. Would God need his help, really? And why is it only headaches and stomach aches? Why not kids with cancer? Surely they deserve it the most. And why don't they share the stories of the thousands who might watch this show and NOT be healed. Although my experience is that headaches and stomach aches ALWAYS go away so I guess he's pretty smart to do this. Right? He's preying on people." They all just smiled back at me.

In our time there Pat Robertson played many commercials selling various DVDs designed to make our lives better. He was featured in each and every DVD and surely makes a nice profit - both for himself and his church. It's a business.

Finally, Muluken looked over at me and asked why I disliked this program so much.

"Because this guy's evil!" I said. "There are many people out there who are guided to do and say loving things in the name of their religion. He is not one of them. He spews hatred, intolerance, and fear about people who are not just like him - namely, white, male, and Christian."

I then pulled out my own electronic (as an adult I"m allowed to bring mine along). I used my phone to search Pat Robertson on Google and share a few quotes he has made over the past couple of years. Here they are.

On accepting and loving gays and lesbians, namely the photos they post on Facebook of embraces or kisses...
"You've got a couple of same-sex guys kissing, do you like that? Well that makes me want to throw up. To me I would punch "Vomit' not 'Like.' But they don't give you that option on Facebook."

On men who cheat, and the women who are to blame for this...
"Males have a tendency to wander a little bit. And what [women] want to do is make a home so wonderful he doesn't want to wander."

On men whose wives have been stricken with Alzheimers...
"I know it sounds cruel, but if he is going to do something he should divorce her and start all over again, but to make sure she has custodial care and somebody looking after her. [Alzheimers is] a kind of death."

On the role of the male...
"I know this is painful for the ladies to hear but if you get married you've accepted the headship of a man, your husband. Christ is the head of the household, and the husband is the head of the wife. That's just the way it is. Period."

On gays and lesbians...
"Many of those people involved in Adolf Hitler were Satanists. Many were homosexuals. The two things seem to go together."

On the tornadoes in the Midwest that killed so many...
"If enough people were praying [God] would have intervened. You could pray. Jesus stilled the storm. You can still storms."

There were also things about the Haitians getting what they deserved. And strokes being a divine act of God on those who do not toe the line. And mass murders being a morality check.

Tricia eventually came to pick the girls up leaving me and Muluken to spend another few hours waiting. When I got home Tricia said "I heard you had a good time watching the 700 Club."

"Dad, you were HILARIOUS," Harper laughed. "You're face just kept getting all twisted up!"

I can only wonder what we'll see next time we're at Urgent Care (and believe me, there will be a next time). If they enjoyed my reactions to Pat Robertson they might really love Fox News.

Beginning Anew

So, I've been MIA from the bloggerverse over the past couple of months. That's a really long time. I could blame in on the demands of teaching and parenting. I could shuffle my feet and mumble something about being so tired lately. I could probably think of a thousand excuses. If I had to.

 In reality I've just been distracted by other things. While I have been awfully busy planning, grading, playing, cleaning, and driving the kids around, there has been time left for blogging. However, I've used these moments doing other things. Because things generally settle down and all work gets pushed aside around 9:00 in the evening, I've been watching television with Tricia until 10 and then going off to bed where I pull out my laptop to keep up with the trail journals of many of the hikers finishing their AT thru-hikes. Day by day I've been following along on their 2,180 mile trek from Springer Mountain, Georgia to Mount Katahdin, Maine. The only hikers left out there now are those who are walking south. Some started in Maine last summer and will soon finish on Springer Mountain. A few others have flip-flopped, having already walked the top of the trail as north bounders and are now finishing the southern states as south bounders.

 Over the past few weeks I've been dropping in on a few random people. However, of those left out on the trail the only journal I've consistently kept up with is a young girl who calls herself Lost N Found. Her journey has been unique. Just a month or so ago she stopped her hike to work on a sustainable farm she happened across while on the trail. Her short apprenticeship offered her the opportunity to learn about sustainable farming while also offering new possibilities for what she will make of her life when she returns to the real world.

 I checked her journal just a few minutes ago only to find she is about to make another choice that is quite unique within this community - she is going to stop journaling. This means with only 100 miles left she won't share her final few days or the thrill of finishing with those of us who have followed along for so long. However, to hear her explain why she has made this choice leaves me feeling more fulfilled than seeing that final summit pic ever could have. Here it is...

 Today, I am thankful. 

 To be honest, I have had some difficulty writing lately, and even communicating with those at home. The journey is winding down, with a mere 100 miles remaining, and yet seems to be at it's peak. My feeble attempts to convey the richness of the experience seemed cheap and are thwarted by the limits of my vocabulary. The details of daily life, the distances, heights of mountains, size of hail, temperatures- these are all but menial. The aches, pains, and hunger fade into the background (well, not so much the hunger, that stays pretty relevant), and the rest goes ignored in the light of what cannot be put into words. 

 It is the sound of leaves dying and falling from trees, the harsh sting of wind on flesh, the way the rain smells before it even begins. It is sitting together in comfortable silence, observing and absorbing beauty without a need to explain or document it. It is learning how to feel, how to be. It is having the freedom to bare one's soul and essence in a pure, almost childlike way, without the societal confines that dictate what characteristics are acceptable or attractive. It is facing the good, the bad, and ugly within yourself and others. It is humbling, it is painful, it is raw. And can be frightening. But it is also rewarding and can bring peace and contentment, and the ability to find those things in unideal situations. 

There is a quiet intensity in this blatant, intentional way of life and interacting. I am acutely aware of the passing of time, and in that awareness, face both great anticipation and deep sadness. Yet in both of those I find that I wish to neither hasten nor slow time's passage. No matter how beautiful or precious a moment, it cannot be held forever. Things cannot go back to the way they once were, nor can I go back to the way I was before. 

 I share this not in an attempt to elicit understanding, as I know that would be impossible, just as 
I know this may all be perceived as the idealistic ramblings of one who has lived too long in the woods. That is ok, though I assure you the transformation is real, and ongoing (I certainly still have much to learn). Instead I share it for the following reasons: First, to encourage you to continuously try to discover and pursue the things that are most important in your life and relationships, and find what speaks to your heart. And second, to ask that you please be gracious with me as I return to your world, to drop any expectations you may have of the girl that left you and embrace the one that returns in her place. 

 This will likely be my last entry as there is little left to say but this: there is so much more to living than being alive. Happy trails! 

 -Lost N Found