I don't understand racism. There is not a cell in my body that gets it. Yet, for some reason, we are surrounded by it. How, in a country that is of mixed race, creed and prides itself with freedom, can anyone claim to be superior to anyone else?
Growing up we were never really exposed to it. My mom is of Japanese/Hawaiian/Native American decent, my dad is English (although for some reason, he thinks he is German even though our genealogy documentation traces back to England, but, you know, whatever- he's dad, right?). My grandmother was born and raised in Hawaii and spoke Hawaiian, Japanese and English (known as "pidgin"). When she first moved stateside after WWII, a man in a truck ran her over (she survived but was injured) while yelling a profane slang word for Japanese at her. I was in my late teens before I knew this happened. In the early 1970's, not too long after the Civil Rights Act of 1968 involving equal housing, an African American family moved into our suburban neighborhood. My mom immediately welcomed the family into the neighborhood, and became fast friends with them. My parents hired their teenage daughters to babysit us one summer. Honestly, it never occurred to my sister and I that we were of a "different race", to us, they were cool teenage girls that were fun to hang out with.
The first time I ever encountered racism was in junior high. A girl at my school (we went to a small private school) told me that if I hugged my African American friend, that her color would rub off on me. Even then, I knew this was absurd. I stopped being friends with the racist girl because I didn't like associating with ignorance. I remember once a relative called someone "colored" and my dad asked them, "Oh, yeah, what color?", I immediately pictured green. Once in Jr. High, one of my teachers made an off hand remark about me being "yellow" because I was part Japanese. I had no idea what this meant yet was still offended and saddened by it. My mom straightened him out, be afraid, be very afraid... I don't think I was raised sheltered by any means, yet I cannot explain my lack of knowledge when it came to racism. When I was 18 I moved in with my African American boyfriend and didn't give it another thought. I liked him, he liked me - end of story, right? Little did I know that almost a year and a half later, we would break up due to the racism his mother felt for him living with a "white" girl. I remembered thinking, "Wait, I'm not white!" and mourning the loss of what was and could have been.
This is why when I recently encountered racism to the point of bigotry at a family gathering I was appalled, saddened and disappointed. My daughter recently came out and wanted to bring her girlfriend to a family function. I didn't give it a second thought- of course she can come! The other cousins bring their boyfriends so what is the difference? When my daughter walked in with her girlfriend and said hello to the family, one member was silent. This is a relative that has always been close to my daughter and on this day, he wouldn't even turn his head to say hi. Everyone else treated them like the family that they are, but he refused to man-up, swallow his pride and simply say hi. Now, I know everyone is entitled to their opinions, beliefs, etc., but no one is entitled to view another as a lower human. When my daughter came out I was proud of her. To know this about herself at such a young age, and be bold enough to stand on the truth of who she is - Oh yeah, I am proud. So, who the hell does he think he is to attempt to make my daughter feel bad about herself? I asked her after we left if he made her feel bad in any way. She said no, she just felt sad for him. The lessons I have strived to teach her that we should never give another the power to control the way we feel sunk in. Hurray! Again, I am proud. However, I am also sad. Sad for my relative, sad for this country. We have come so far, yet have so far to go.
It seems like this generation of kids, currently in high school, is more accepting and tolerant of others. Maybe this means that in our not so distant future, racism won't be such an issue in America. I hope so. I hope my grandchildren never have to encounter any form of racism or bigotry. They can be free to pursue happiness in peace and harmony. As Lennon said, "Imagine" that. Meanwhile, I still don't understand racism. I don't understand why we still need to go around Mt. Sinai yet one more time when the promised land is just a few days away.
Why can't we all just get along?
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
Life in Smurfsville
Picasso had them, as did Rembrandt, Mozart, Hemingway and Poe. Not that I put myself into their category by any means, but it helps that they are among the population count here in Smurfsville.
Blue days, we all have them, the trick is to make sure they don't stretch in to weeks, months or years. They usually creep up on us and settle like a thick, dark cloud. This one, however, seems more like a tempest. I debated whether or not to even write this blog, as many of my readers know me and my loathing for sympathy. But what is the good of a blog it it isn't powerfully honest, right?
One of the side effects of being one of the unfortunate cut employees from the state employment population, is the loss of medical insurance. Insurance is the reason why I even looked into government work in the first place. The state employee's insurance is excellent. They covered all of my husbands medical needs, and approved his transplant surgery in the future. My new job caps off at $300,000 per year, per person. That will not cover his surgery, nor will it cover his care before and after his surgery. The state funded insurance will not cover him, as stated in my previous blog. I talked to his caseworker today and they have to put his transplant listing "on hold" until a funding source can be found. In other words, if a liver comes available, he will be skipped. We have two options: divorce or faith.
If we divorce, he can qualify for all the state insurance on his own. We can still live together (it may be fun "living in sin") wear our rings, etc., but on all paperwork (taxes, medical papers, and so forth) we have to list ourselves as divorced. Now I know it is "just a piece of paper", we can have a committed, loving relationship without it.....but....... He waited until he was 42 to marry, and then, we found each other. We took our wedding seriously. We take our marriage seriously. Divorce was never a word we even allowed into our home. Another thing, I am not my in-laws favorite person (Shocking I know!! Right?!) which means if we divorce and a liver does not come his way, they could contest his will and claim to be next of kin. Honestly, we don't own anything so it is not about the material. It is about his last wishes. We have had all of the difficult discussions about funeral, burial and so on. They could fight all of it and they have the means to do so. Our social worker at the liver place suggests that we don't tell them anything and if it looks like things are going bad, with no liver in sight, we can re-marry on his deathbed. That's a sobering statement.
If we chose faith (which is the direction he is leaning), he goes off all of his medication as they run out, see the doctor to keep him comfortable and pray for God's will. His faith is very strong. Mine used to be. He believes he can receive a miracle healing from God. We have all seen and heard stories of this happening so I don't doubt the possibility - it's just that do to the last couple of years of winter (yes, we are going on 6 straight years of winter in our lives) my faith isn't where it once was. We have to be prepared for the distinctive possibility that it may not come, but the preparation of that possible reality goes against the faith based belief. What a conundrum.
Essentially, it is his decision since it is his body. I have to live in peace with whatever he decides to do. I believe that once he decides, the peace will come. It's the not knowing that is the main street light in Smurfsville, and currently I am sitting under the lamp post, it's foggy out this night, chin on my fist (much like Auguste Rodin’s, The Thinker), very few passers by, I just heard a cat screech, and the breeze has become warm. My eyes are closed in a silent vigil for my husband's decision, when it is made, I will go home.
Blue days, we all have them, the trick is to make sure they don't stretch in to weeks, months or years. They usually creep up on us and settle like a thick, dark cloud. This one, however, seems more like a tempest. I debated whether or not to even write this blog, as many of my readers know me and my loathing for sympathy. But what is the good of a blog it it isn't powerfully honest, right?
One of the side effects of being one of the unfortunate cut employees from the state employment population, is the loss of medical insurance. Insurance is the reason why I even looked into government work in the first place. The state employee's insurance is excellent. They covered all of my husbands medical needs, and approved his transplant surgery in the future. My new job caps off at $300,000 per year, per person. That will not cover his surgery, nor will it cover his care before and after his surgery. The state funded insurance will not cover him, as stated in my previous blog. I talked to his caseworker today and they have to put his transplant listing "on hold" until a funding source can be found. In other words, if a liver comes available, he will be skipped. We have two options: divorce or faith.
If we divorce, he can qualify for all the state insurance on his own. We can still live together (it may be fun "living in sin") wear our rings, etc., but on all paperwork (taxes, medical papers, and so forth) we have to list ourselves as divorced. Now I know it is "just a piece of paper", we can have a committed, loving relationship without it.....but....... He waited until he was 42 to marry, and then, we found each other. We took our wedding seriously. We take our marriage seriously. Divorce was never a word we even allowed into our home. Another thing, I am not my in-laws favorite person (Shocking I know!! Right?!) which means if we divorce and a liver does not come his way, they could contest his will and claim to be next of kin. Honestly, we don't own anything so it is not about the material. It is about his last wishes. We have had all of the difficult discussions about funeral, burial and so on. They could fight all of it and they have the means to do so. Our social worker at the liver place suggests that we don't tell them anything and if it looks like things are going bad, with no liver in sight, we can re-marry on his deathbed. That's a sobering statement.
If we chose faith (which is the direction he is leaning), he goes off all of his medication as they run out, see the doctor to keep him comfortable and pray for God's will. His faith is very strong. Mine used to be. He believes he can receive a miracle healing from God. We have all seen and heard stories of this happening so I don't doubt the possibility - it's just that do to the last couple of years of winter (yes, we are going on 6 straight years of winter in our lives) my faith isn't where it once was. We have to be prepared for the distinctive possibility that it may not come, but the preparation of that possible reality goes against the faith based belief. What a conundrum.
Essentially, it is his decision since it is his body. I have to live in peace with whatever he decides to do. I believe that once he decides, the peace will come. It's the not knowing that is the main street light in Smurfsville, and currently I am sitting under the lamp post, it's foggy out this night, chin on my fist (much like Auguste Rodin’s, The Thinker), very few passers by, I just heard a cat screech, and the breeze has become warm. My eyes are closed in a silent vigil for my husband's decision, when it is made, I will go home.
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