How do you deal with it when you run across rampant racism in your immediate family? These are people I can't just cut off, nor would I ever want to. But the "I'm not a racist!" racism that keeps getting shoved in my face with the expectation that I will either 1) eventually break down and agree with it, or 2) smile and swallow it is giving me ulcers.
We have dealt with this problem. P took the bull by the horns and said that when you are at your home, you can be what ever you will be. When you are in our home, you are not allowed to bring up those subjects and speak those words here.
It was pretty simple and straight forward. It also worked. It also ratcheted things back when we went to their place. It has pretty much become the house rule, regardless of if its family or friends.
How do you deal with it when you run across rampant racism in your immediate family? These are people I can't just cut off, nor would I ever want to. But the "I'm not a racist!" racism that keeps getting shoved in my face with the expectation that I will either 1) eventually break down and agree with it, or 2) smile and swallow it is giving me ulcers.
Growing up the lone progressive regarding race issues in my family, I have a lot of experience with this. There really are only 3 choices, you can either argue with them with no one's opinions ever being changed and be in constant conflict, you can ignore it and focus on only the good the best you can or not be around them. I tried the first for awhile, decided the third was not an option and have been doing number 2 for quite some time now. Fortunately they are not the type that cause waves or express their racism in public so that has not been an issue. You have to fully admit to yourself that that is who they are, once you reconcile that with yourself hopefully it will ease the ulcers.
How do you deal with it when you run across rampant racism in your immediate family? These are people I can't just cut off, nor would I ever want to. But the "I'm not a racist!" racism that keeps getting shoved in my face with the expectation that I will either 1) eventually break down and agree with it, or 2) smile and swallow it is giving me ulcers.
Questlove: Trayvon Martin and I Ain’t Shit This is just an excerpt, worth reading the whole thing. I love this guy....
I recently told a friend one of these stories: I live in a "nice" building. I work hard. You know I work hard. My logic is (naïve alert in 5, 4, 3, 2 … ) "Well, there can't be any fear of any type in this building" — you've got to go through hell and high water just to get accepted to live here, like it's Dartmouth or UPenn. Secondly, there are, like, five to eight guards on duty 24/7, so this spot is beyond safe. Like, Oscar winners and kids of royalty and sports guys and mafia goombahs live here. One night, I get in the elevator, and just as the door closes this beautiful woman gets on. Because of a pain in the arse card device you have to use to get to your floor, it just makes it an easier protocol for whoever is pressing floors to take everyone's request, like when you are at the window of a drive-thru. So I press my floor number, and I ask her, "What floor, ma'am?" (Yes, I say "ma'am," because … sigh, anyway.) She says nothing, stands in the corner. Mind you, I just discovered the Candy Crush app, so if anything, I'm the rude one because I'm more obsessed with winning this particular level than anything else. In my head I'm thinking, There's no way I can be a threat to a woman this fine if I'm buried deep in this game — so surely she feels safe.
The humor comes in that I thought she was on my floor because she never acknowledged my floor request. (She was also bangin', so inside I was like, "Dayuuuuuuuuuuum, she lives on my floor? *bow chicka wowow*!" Instantly I was on some "What dessert am I welcome-committee-ing her with?") Anywho, the door opens, and I waited to let her off first because I am a gentleman. (Old me would've rushed first, thus not putting me in the position to have to follow her, God forbid if she, too, makes a left and it seems like I'm following her.) So door opens and I flirt, "Ladies first." She says, "This is not my floor." Then I assume she is missing her building card, so I pulled my card out to try to press her floor yet again. She says, "That's okay."
Then it hit me: "Oh God, she purposely held that information back." The door closed. It was a "pie in the face" moment.
I laughed at it. Sort of.
Inside I cried. But if I cried at every insensitive act that goes on in the name of safety, I'd have to be committed to a psych ward. I've just taught myself throughout the years to just accept it and maybe even see it as funny. But it kept eating at me (Well, I guess she never watched the show …My English was super clear … I called her "ma'am" like I was Webster …Those that know you know that you're cool, but you definitely know that you are a walking rape nightmare — right, Ahmir?Of course she was justified in not saying her floor. That was her prerogative!You are kinda scary-looking, I guess?). It's a bajillion thoughts, all of them self-depreciating voices slowly eating my soul away.
enjoyed his take
and i've had smokin hot chicks ignore me too (but i don't htink race had anything to do with it)
Questlove: Trayvon Martin and I Ain’t Shit This is just an excerpt, worth reading the whole thing. I love this guy....
I feel this was a good essay and needed to be said. I can relate to it more than most think I should as an obese, white female walking around everyday on this planet. People forget that "fatties" have feelings too. Thanks for posting it
Questlove: Trayvon Martin and I Ain’t Shit This is just an excerpt, worth reading the whole thing. I love this guy....
I recently told a friend one of these stories: I live in a "nice" building. I work hard. You know I work hard. My logic is (naïve alert in 5, 4, 3, 2 … ) "Well, there can't be any fear of any type in this building" — you've got to go through hell and high water just to get accepted to live here, like it's Dartmouth or UPenn. Secondly, there are, like, five to eight guards on duty 24/7, so this spot is beyond safe. Like, Oscar winners and kids of royalty and sports guys and mafia goombahs live here. One night, I get in the elevator, and just as the door closes this beautiful woman gets on. Because of a pain in the arse card device you have to use to get to your floor, it just makes it an easier protocol for whoever is pressing floors to take everyone's request, like when you are at the window of a drive-thru. So I press my floor number, and I ask her, "What floor, ma'am?" (Yes, I say "ma'am," because … sigh, anyway.) She says nothing, stands in the corner. Mind you, I just discovered the Candy Crush app, so if anything, I'm the rude one because I'm more obsessed with winning this particular level than anything else. In my head I'm thinking, There's no way I can be a threat to a woman this fine if I'm buried deep in this game — so surely she feels safe.
The humor comes in that I thought she was on my floor because she never acknowledged my floor request. (She was also bangin', so inside I was like, "Dayuuuuuuuuuuum, she lives on my floor? *bow chicka wowow*!" Instantly I was on some "What dessert am I welcome-committee-ing her with?") Anywho, the door opens, and I waited to let her off first because I am a gentleman. (Old me would've rushed first, thus not putting me in the position to have to follow her, God forbid if she, too, makes a left and it seems like I'm following her.) So door opens and I flirt, "Ladies first." She says, "This is not my floor." Then I assume she is missing her building card, so I pulled my card out to try to press her floor yet again. She says, "That's okay."
Then it hit me: "Oh God, she purposely held that information back." The door closed. It was a "pie in the face" moment.
I laughed at it. Sort of.
Inside I cried. But if I cried at every insensitive act that goes on in the name of safety, I'd have to be committed to a psych ward. I've just taught myself throughout the years to just accept it and maybe even see it as funny. But it kept eating at me (Well, I guess she never watched the show …My English was super clear … I called her "ma'am" like I was Webster …Those that know you know that you're cool, but you definitely know that you are a walking rape nightmare — right, Ahmir?Of course she was justified in not saying her floor. That was her prerogative!You are kinda scary-looking, I guess?). It's a bajillion thoughts, all of them self-depreciating voices slowly eating my soul away.
Questlove: Trayvon Martin and I Ain’t Shit This is just an excerpt, worth reading the whole thing. I love this guy....
I recently told a friend one of these stories: I live in a "nice" building. I work hard. You know I work hard. My logic is (naïve alert in 5, 4, 3, 2 … ) "Well, there can't be any fear of any type in this building" — you've got to go through hell and high water just to get accepted to live here, like it's Dartmouth or UPenn. Secondly, there are, like, five to eight guards on duty 24/7, so this spot is beyond safe. Like, Oscar winners and kids of royalty and sports guys and mafia goombahs live here. One night, I get in the elevator, and just as the door closes this beautiful woman gets on. Because of a pain in the arse card device you have to use to get to your floor, it just makes it an easier protocol for whoever is pressing floors to take everyone's request, like when you are at the window of a drive-thru. So I press my floor number, and I ask her, "What floor, ma'am?" (Yes, I say "ma'am," because … sigh, anyway.) She says nothing, stands in the corner. Mind you, I just discovered the Candy Crush app, so if anything, I'm the rude one because I'm more obsessed with winning this particular level than anything else. In my head I'm thinking, There's no way I can be a threat to a woman this fine if I'm buried deep in this game — so surely she feels safe.
The humor comes in that I thought she was on my floor because she never acknowledged my floor request. (She was also bangin', so inside I was like, "Dayuuuuuuuuuuum, she lives on my floor? *bow chicka wowow*!" Instantly I was on some "What dessert am I welcome-committee-ing her with?") Anywho, the door opens, and I waited to let her off first because I am a gentleman. (Old me would've rushed first, thus not putting me in the position to have to follow her, God forbid if she, too, makes a left and it seems like I'm following her.) So door opens and I flirt, "Ladies first." She says, "This is not my floor." Then I assume she is missing her building card, so I pulled my card out to try to press her floor yet again. She says, "That's okay."
Then it hit me: "Oh God, she purposely held that information back." The door closed. It was a "pie in the face" moment.
I laughed at it. Sort of.
Inside I cried. But if I cried at every insensitive act that goes on in the name of safety, I'd have to be committed to a psych ward. I've just taught myself throughout the years to just accept it and maybe even see it as funny. But it kept eating at me (Well, I guess she never watched the show …My English was super clear … I called her "ma'am" like I was Webster …Those that know you know that you're cool, but you definitely know that you are a walking rape nightmare — right, Ahmir?Of course she was justified in not saying her floor. That was her prerogative!You are kinda scary-looking, I guess?). It's a bajillion thoughts, all of them self-depreciating voices slowly eating my soul away.
No, I just hate the particularly idiotic programs that formerly interesting cable channels are now broadcasting. We have DirectTV - over 200 channels; most of them total crap.
No, I just hate the particularly idiotic programs that formerly interesting cable channels are now broadcasting. We have DirectTV - over 200 channels; most of them total crap.
I have antenna TV when I watch it...free...limited...free...low expectations...free 20 or so channels, half of them worth watching...free
No, I just hate the particularly idiotic programs that formerly interesting cable channels are now broadcasting. We have DirectTV - over 200 channels; most of them total crap.
