That's right. I said it. The color of your skin DOES matter. I know, you're shocked and dismayed that I'd actually put it in writing. But in this day and age, it's time to fess up how I really feel and think.
I'll say it again. Today, Martin Luther King Jr. Day. The inauguration of our 44th President of the United States.
Every.single.part.of.today.is.about.skin.color.
No matter how evolved, how integrated, how far we've come from shipping human beings in living coffins of trade ships, how "cool" we think we are having a mixed group of friends, or in my case, family, we can not deny that the shade of your face matters.
Not too long ago I was in the driver's seat of one of those Dave and Buster's type of racing games. You know the kind where you sit four people across, every racer with their own wheel, pedals and screens, waiting with sweaty palms and racing hearts for the green GO light, as if our lives depended on it. You know,
that kind? Well, it was like that, but with an even better twist, each driver had a passenger seat. My passenger was cheering me on, supporting me, yelling at me to take the lead on the inside curve. Riding it out with me as our simulator car bumped and careened and jostled us about, while I hit every pole, tree and bridge with my rear-skidding Mitsubishi, convertible top down, wind flowing in my hair simulator. It was a hot race. I was in first place. Then second place. And then a tricky hairpin turn that I expertly maneuvered thrust me four car lengths ahead, leaving my competitors in the dust. I hit the gas! I was off, one more turn and victory was mine!!! MINE, ALL MINE!!! I shifted into fifth, my passenger screaming in delight at the other losers. We headed into the final turn, I pulled my steering wheel left, my screen shifted and suddenly, I was in a tailspin. The guy in second place, bumped me from behind and BAM! It was over. I had suddenly gone from first to fourth...only finishing that high because my momentum swung me through the checkered flag. Even though I didn't win, I had a blast. I wanted to race again. My adrenalin was flowing, I was smiling ear to ear and heck, I had $8.25 left on my token card. But....it was my passenger's turn to drive.
After switching seats and settling in, giving a quick pep talk and enforcing that WE.MUST.WIN, a quick three beeps and WE WERE OFF!!! I looked up at the screen and we were flying! Oh my! the car was bumping and rocking and jostling. Oh dear! Left turn! RIGHT TURN! ugh. oh! OOOF!!!! Oh my goodness! "IS THIS THE SAME TRACK?!!!!", I yelled. Someone from behind, affirmed. Yep, same track I had just driven. SERIOUSLY? Oh my gosh! LEFT TURN, HAIRPIN TURN, OOOOOOOOooooooooo, pleasepleasepleaseplease stop driving over the rumble strips. Oh my gosh! I tried to cheer, but
every time I looked at the screen it made me sick. Oh my goodness, please let this end soon. Please, please. I started praying that promise prayer. You know the one, "Lord, ifyoustopthisrideIpromiseI'llstartvolunteeringandtithingtenpercent.Please.Please.Please." Why, oh, why did I have that glass of wine. Shit. Oh shit! Hold it together, Spann. My cheering ceased, my eyes were closed as if I were going over top of a 10 story roller coaster.
Finally.
Finally. After much celebration and laughter and, of course, not without being made a fool, it came to an end. Oi vey.
After stumbling back to my seat like a drunken sailor, cuddling a glass of water as if it were a commode after a college beer fest, and one foot on the floor the room finally stopped spinning.
Why? Why did being in the driver's seat excite me? Get my adrenalin pumping and give me Danica confidence? But the passenger's seat? Oh, the passenger's seat.
As I sat there watching the rest of the group finish up my token card, it hit me. It was my perspective.
As the passenger I was viewing the racetrack from the driver's point of view. The screen had been toggled from a bird's eye view where you watch your car from overhead, to as if the driver is looking out the windshield of the car.
Perspective.
Perspective matters. Seeing things through other's eyes changes everything. That's not new or revolutionary. It's elementary, actually. "walk a mile in their shoes", "seek first to understand". Come on, who hasn't sung a round of "red or yellow, black or white, they are lovely in His sight..."?
If you saw the world through my blue eyes, looking down at my fair skin and interpreting it through my family and life experience filters it would be a different perspective for you. My family's white Tennessee roots influences the foods we eat (we have chocolate gravy for breakfast, crumble corn bread in milk and have buttermilk biscuit bake-offs), the familial idioms (throwing in a southern accent in any conversation can be endearment, sympathy or teasing), and, of course, the theological foundation (that whole "women shall remain silent in the church" thing? yep, still happening in 2012 for some).
Those southern roots have also caused deep hurt and pain in our family. There's the time our grandparents wouldn't attend their granddaughter's wedding because she was was marrying a "colored boy". Or the cold welcome my aunt's Latino boyfriend, eventual husband, received when she finally brought him home. Thankfully, oh, so thankfully, my family has evolved. (The "colored boy"? Well, he's practically the favorite grandson.)
Does that make everything I believe or say or do or think, right? Of course not. But those things
matter to me. My own life experience- the schools I attended, the people I keep in my close circle, the personal acceptance...and rejection I've experienced through my life, all shades how I view the world, how I shape my worldview. It impacts the type of wife, sister, daughter, friend, aunt, and cousin I am to those most important to me. And I am and do and can be all of those things as a
white woman.
My perspective will always be as a white woman. And in the most vulnerable, secretive places in me I want to be respected and liked and loved...because I'm white....in spite of the fact that I'm white. I have a hunch here that, red or yellow, black or white, many, many people feel the same way.
Today, of all days, we need to
celebrate race...to celebrate that we are different. The fact that we elected black man to lead our country once, was historical. But listen up, people! We.did.it.twice! Whether you like President Obama or not it'd be hard ignore the significance of this day--of this time in which we are living.
We will never have the full luxury of really having a driver's seat perspective in someone else's skin. But when we recognize this as an opportunity to celebrate another's perspective. When we stop trying to make everyone believe and see like us, then we can truly come to a place of celebration.
And so, I'll say it again. The color of skin matters. And for that, I celebrate!
