There are various reasons why people discriminate against others. Race, age, gender, ethnicity, sexual orientation, physical traits or abilities, religion, socioeconomic status, and personal history to name a few. This story is about my experience with racism and discrimination.
My very first experience with discrimination happened when I was about four-years-old. The boy who lived next door approached me while I played by our doorstep. He told me that I “talked funny” and then proceeded to urinate on me. I think he pretty much emptied his bladder on my new dress before my mother realized what was happening. I think his prejudice stemmed from the fact that my mother looks Vietnamese. I was born on the heels of the Vietnam War when some people were not very kind to Vietnamese people. His family thought we were Vietnamese. It did not matter that my father was almost seven feet tall with blue eyes and blond hair and had lost the use of his legs fighting for our country. My sister had blond hair, too.
My next vivid recollection of discrimination happened when I was in elementary school. My mother and I were walking home from school when we saw two boys being attacked by another group of boys. I knew the two boys from school. They were in “special” classes a few grades above me. I think one of them was significantly retarded and the other boy was mildly retarded. They were twins. One of them was very effeminate in his mannerisms. I didn't really notice it then, but I remember it now. The evil boys were yelling awful insults about the twins mental capacity and about the one boy’s gentle mannerisms. I couldn't run because of my illness, but I took off limping as fast as I could. My mother was right behind me yelling at me in Spanish to stop. I didn't stop until I stood next to my twin friends. I normally avoid confrontations trying to be invisible actually. However, I was anything but invisible on this day. I lunged at the boy who seemed to lead the pack. I can still remember how my legs shook from fear and weakness. The cruel group of boys didn't notice my fear because they took off running as fast as they could.
My polio was a constant reason for bullies and predators to try and hurt me. Incidents like the day two students pushed me down the stairs because I did not know how to walk were common. In Junior High School, AISD decided it would be a good idea to send my neighborhood to a school in another neighborhood. My first day in my new school, I was pushed by a group of girls with dark skin who didn't like the color of my skin. They called me “Oreo”. You can’t push someone with polio. Our body doesn't bounce back from injury the way a “normal” person’s body bounces back. I couldn't get myself off the floor. A group of boys with dark skin helped me off the floor. Those boys literally became my body guards. I didn't see this issue as a race issue. I saw this issue as a group of evil girls hurting me and a group of kind boys coming to my rescue.
When I was a teenager, the couple next door would let me play with their little baby. She was the prettiest little girl I had ever seen.Her hair was curled tightly and she always had multiple pretty barrettes in her hair. I would go next door almost every day after-school to play with my baby friend. I didn't realize there was anything significantly different about us for a long time. Then one day, her mama asked me if I wanted to babysit for her. She was honest with me and said she was worried to let me watch her daughter because my skin wasn't the same color as hers. I was visibly confused. I think she ended up feeling embarrassed. I babysat for her and we were all very close until she moved away. I cried for a long time after they left because I had lost my baby friend.
A few months later, I started working at a local McDonald's. There was a football player that worked with me. He was HUGE. I thought he was beautiful. We were so alike he and I. We both had the same values and worshiped the same God. Our only difference, from my perspective, was that he was a man and I was a girl. We tended to work the same shift and I soon found myself wanting to go to work just to see him. I was thrilled beyond words when he asked me to come see him play football at his university. My mother said she would come to the store to meet him. I really thought she would say yes to me, but she wouldn't let me go. Her reason? She carried on like a crazy woman about all the discrimination we had suffered and how she hid herself from public view most of my childhood so I wouldn't be hurt by racism. She told me she wasn't about to let me willingly step into a situation like that by intentionally dating a black man. I was devastated. I was confused.
My mother's views on race didn't change years later when I met Isaiah's father. She was rude and disrespectful. But, this time at least, she voiced most of her opinions when no one else was listening.
When we became foster parents, we asked for a child that couldn't be placed easily. I assumed we would receive a child with Cerebral Palsy or some other medical issue. We were told babies were easily placed so I never expected a baby. We actually thought a baby would be too difficult for us. I was more than shocked when Miss Martha called and asked if we would take a nine-month-old African American boy. I don’t know if DPS is still the same way, but ten years ago the color of his skin was considered a disability. I thought the color of his skin was the most beautiful thing about him. That and his gorgeous dark hair.
When I first met the man I am currently married to, he would often tell me that key members of his family had issues with him marrying outside his race. I was saddened by this prejudice, but hoped once they met me all would be well. It wasn't well. His family would ignore me when we visited. He would ignore me,too, almost acting as if he were ashamed to arrive with a non-black woman. They treated me as if I wasn't even in the room. They would look through me and speak around me and ignore my comments when I tried to join in. Ah, if only their discrimination would have ended there. There was the Christmas when the black kids received hundreds of dollars in cash and my Mexican son received a $10 Walmart gift card where someone had crossed their own name off the card. Their endless discussions about the inequality blacks suffer mixed with their support of “for black people” organizations and that was okay. The contradiction oblivious to them. The constant criticism towards me was hard to overlook, but I tried. It was ironic that the very things they routinely complained about, racism and discrimination, were the very things they habitually did towards me and even my children at times. Anytime I was told I needed to change something about myself, I did. I put up with it for a long time, until the fateful day when I received an email calling me a prostitute and a Jezebel who had tricked my "husband" into marrying him. Prostitute? If they only knew I am far from what they imagined. If they only knew...
The saddest thing to come from this awful situation is that my heart has been wounded towards people with dark skin. I do not hold angst against them; however, I am cautious if I do not know them well. I have developed a prejudice assuming that dark-skinned people may have something against me. It doesn't help when I see that some of the black people I know go to predominantly black churches and “hang out” with mainly black people. Isn't that a prejudice in itself? It is sad that the cruelty of one family has made me so hyper vigilant towards race now. I have to consciously force myself to dismiss prejudicial thoughts so I do not become like those that hurt me.
I hope that sharing my story will make someone think twice before discriminating against another person. We can't always control our prejudicial bias; however, you can always control the way you act. Don't act a fool!
