I'm a racist, too

Ever since I was a little kid, I have been fiercely anti-racism. I was raised in a white suburb on the west side of Cleveland, but my parents did their best to expose me to people of all cultures, races, and walks of life (as much as that is possible in Cleveland). Every MLK day, I would go with my parents to be the only white people in the room when my mother's friend, A. Grace Lee Mims would perform a memorial concert. I briefly dated a black guy from East Cleveland. I wrote and spoke about equality for all and being blind to color. One of my proudest moments was when, after giving a speech about racism at a speech and debate tournament, a young African-American kid came up to me and said something along the lines of, "It's really good to know that there are some white people who understand." I felt like the coolest person in the room.
When I was a senior in high school, I made friends with a girl from Shaw high school who taught me a lot about what it was to live in the ghetto. The first time I went to her house, her grandma almost called the cops because there was a strange white person on the porch. I was almost complicit in a gang fight until I sped up and yelled so much that Keinya's friend couldn't get out of the car to start with someone. It was with her that I walked into a quickie mart completely encased in bullet-proof glass. You told the woman behind the glass what you wanted and she would wander through the store and grab it. Then you would slide the money to her under the glass. She, then, would deliver the food to you through a bullet proof carousel. I had no idea such places existed. I was scared shitless and at the same time incredibly sad that people had to live this way. I learned about greens and fried foods and the appeal of crappy champagne. I also got named "honorarily ghetto" by the guy who I scared out of jumping out of my car on Saint Clair Ave. It's true, I don't fuck around.

However, I also had all these little remnants of where I was raised living inside of me. My neighbors always used to refer to everything that was cheaply repaired as "nigger-rigged." For years I didn't understand why my mom said "jimmy-rigged" and my neighbors said it the other way. Same with "ding-dong ditch." Where I grew up, that was called "nigger-knocking." And when you get the tip of a cigarette too wet, there was a racist name for that too. It wasn't until I was in high school that I realized that the "n-word" was a part of those phrases. I know that that sounds incredibly stupid, but they were just words to me, words that almost ran together. I never associated them with the word that should never be said. Then a little light went off in my head and I was terribly embarrassed and upset that I had ever said such things. How could I have been so ignorant?
You have to understand a little bit about where I was raised. Cleveland is one of the most segregated cities in the United States. It's a little better now (I hear), but when I was growing up there (I graduated high school in 1996), the blacks and Jews lived on the east side and the Arabs and Indians lived on the West -- my side of town. There was one black girl in my class, three black kids in my high school (and, as far as I know, no Jews wait, I take that back there were two kids, brother and sister). Cleveland is a very neighborhoody place. The Italians, Pols, Czechs, Irish & more all have their own neighborhoods. From what I hear, you didnt' bother crossing in to those 'hoods if you had dark skin.
When I was in high school, my school was playing Rhodes High School (a largely black school) for a district championship in basketball. Someone from my high school was "joking" about wearing a white sheet to the game. The 8th graders behind me actually started chanting "kill the niggers" during the game. The stopped once I threatened them with a beat-down. My neighbor was with them and he told them I wasn't kidding. I'm glad the believed me, because I'm pretty sure I couldn't have taken on three boys by myself. Just a few years ago, my father had a Jamaican hospice nurse. She got pulled over in my little hamlet for a good old DWB -- Driving While Black.

I went to two mostly white colleges and so I wasn't really confronted with my own racism until I moved to the south side of Chicago to go to graduate school. It was there that all of my idealism crashed head-on into my lack of interaction with African-Americans. One day, I was riding the 55 to the red line to get downtown and I saw a black guy running in the park. I thought to myself, "Hm... I didn't know black people exercised." WTF?! How incredibly stupid is that? I immediately became embarrassed by my thought, but there it was. I couldn't take it back. My lifetime of living in white America and being largely exposed to people of color through the television had, apparently, taught me that black people are lazy. Unless they play professional sports or are running from the police. I also remember seeing a young black kid running one day (not in exercise apparel) and wondered what he had stolen. I hated driving through Washington Park in the summer. It was always lined with people showing off their cars and hanging out in large groups. I was outnumbered, and it made me afraid. I did what I could to avoid taking the green line at night because the green line/ 55 bus stop was in front of a check cashing place, a liquor store and a Harold's Fried Chicken. In my defense, most people I knew avoided that stop at night. But, still...
This is not to say I lived my life in Chicago in fear. It was the first time in my life I had made a number of black friends (although I always found myself saying or doing awkward things around them to show how I was "down" with black culture). I walked to work and came across a myriad of folks. My self-esteem grew leaps and bounds because the same men I was occasionally afraid of LOVED my big butt, little waist shape. It was about damn time my curves were appreciated! My boyfriend at the time was raised in Harvey, IL and his friends were another lesson in life lived without privilege. I would vehemently work to overcome by prejudices and, occasionally, have them reinforced. Once I had a guy tell me, "My momma brought me up on welfare, and I'm gonna bring my kids up on welfare!" Way to have dreams, man! Then again, when all you see around you is buildings and schools that are falling apart, I would imagine that it becomes hard to dream.
Now, I live in suburban Seattle and, to my eyes, Seattle is the whitest big city ever. The kids with whom I work seem to see color a lot less than I ever have. At the same time, it worries me that they don't know the history of racism. Is it good that they don't know the horrible things that people have been through, or do we need to teach then the past in order to keep it from continuing? What is the best way to bring people together?

What's my point? My point is that we HAVE to get to know each other. We have to stop sitting with only people who look like us in the cafeteria. We have to start having conversations between the frats and the Black Student Union. We have to start crossing the divide to get to know one another or else this will never, ever get better. We must be intentional about this. There is no way that integration will just happen. It is human nature to be around people who are similar to you. We all do it. When we travel abroad and hear an American, we gravitate towards them (unless they are the Ugly American). When we are new to an office, we look to people who dress like us, or work in the same department for friendship. We need to start going to the other side of town for movies, plays, grocery shopping -- whatever! Those of us who work with youth must find ways to get our kids out of their schools & churches and to the other side of town to meet other kids and build relationships across the racial divide. Without moves like this, Dr. King's dream is still a dream, and Obama's speech is just a blip in the campaign. Let's make it different. Let's help ourselves change.

Horoscope

My "quickie" horoscope on yahoo today is really entertaining, no matter how i rearrange the words. Here's the actual horoscope, "Being more analytical about your emotions will help you solve some issues today."
Now, to begin with it is funny because I am incredibly emotional, yet still over analyze anything. I'm going to blame all of that on being a woman. The following re-mixes are also amusing
Being more emotional about your analysis will help you solve some issues today.
Being more analytical about your issues will help you solve some emotions today
Being more emotional about your issues will help you solve some analysis today.

oh, horoscopes...

Drama, drama, drama

Why is it that drama is so attractive? Why is it that conflict is so sexy?
I just finished watching Brothers & Sisters (which, by the way, might be my favorite prime time drama -- it's some damn fine television) and found myself falling in love with the drama. The cheating couples were positively titillating. The relationship drama made me feel romantic -- what in the hell is wrong with me? Why am I so attracted to drama?
I spent a good 20 years -- from the time I started sprouting boobs until after I met my husband -- cultivating drama. I didn't realize it. I thought that the drama just kept happening to me; that drama hunted me down and found me where I lived. Then I took time off from dating and realized that I chased drama. I would find myself alone at home and bored and wanting to go out and create drama. Even when I began a relationship with my hubby, I would find ways to create it. I was out on a date with him and asked him if I could invite a much reviled ex to the wedding. Even thought I had realized that I craved drama, I couldn't always stop it. It took so much pausing and stopping myself over and over again to stop the drama. And yet, I still find it so attractive. The idea of all of it seems so sexy. Is it me, or is it us?

me vs. we

So, I was thinking last night that most of the decisions in our life boil down to one basic decision -- me vs. we. I was thinking about the other day at the grocery store when I was trying to decide what kind of eggs to buy. I was at the Green Market here in Renton and it seemed as though they had 15 types of eggs. Free range, cage free, hormone free, anti-biotic free, local, hugged often, raised with classical music, and on and on. I just stood there and stared for a while, considering price vs all of the other stuff on the label. The more words, the more expensive it was. This abundance of choices was actually kind of nice, for once, as I usually shop at the Safeway down the street and get to choose between Big Organic and non-organic shipped halfway across the world. When I try to shop at the local market, I often have to choose either organic or local -- rarely are things labeled as both. This is where the topic comes in -- this is a choice of me vs. we.
Organic is good for my body. However, if it isn't local, it has been shipped from who knows where and used lots of fossil fuels and been lightly sprayed with preservatives in the process. If it is local it hasn't traveled from Chile, but I can't be certain what kind of pesticides and fungicides were used. From what I have been reading, the small farms are less likely to use such treatments, but I don't know that for certain. There are also a lot of small farms that don't go for the organic certification process, or because they may use feed from their neighbors or something, they can't be considered totally organic. What is a girl to do?
Obviously, this is oversimplified, but I have decided that it would make things easier if I think of it as a case of me vs. we. Buying from industrialized organic farms like Organic Valley or Earthbound tells me (or allows me to believe) that what I am eating doesn't put pesticides in my body. That is good for me. However, it travels a long distance and puts lots of fossil fuels into the atmosphere, bad for we. On top of that, it takes me levels away from the farmer and benefits large corporations like General Mills -- also bad for the we (if, that is, I want to help small farmers survive).
If I buy locally, I am possibly putting pesticides in my body. Bad for the Me. I am also purchasing something that might be putting pesticides in the Earth -- bad for the We. However, I am eliminating the distance the food travels, using far less fossil fuels. Good for the We. And, I am supporting small farmers and developing at least a vague relationship with the farm (I can at least point to Walla Walla or Carnation on a map) good for the we. Oh, and supporting the local economy. Also good for the we.
This isn't limited to organic purchases, however. When we make decisions in our lives, are we thinking about the good of the whole or ourselves? When we make decisions that effect our partner, our families, what are we thinking about? When we choose to buy something at Target to save a few bucks and still be "fashionable" who does it benefit? Me, or We? This is a way of looking at choices that goes beyond religion (though, in theory, most religions would err on the side of We). Does a person live for the Me, the We, or somewhere in-between? Why can't I spell in-between? I honestly don't see a point of the life lived entirely for the Me. I can't see how that would be in any way fulfilling -- not to mention that if you made every decision simply concerned about yourself, that would make you an asshole with few friends (Rupert Murdoch, perhaps?).
I digress. It is my bedtime. I will chew on this for the evening.

Rewind : Black Friday/ Buy Nothing Day

This past Friday, Americans spent $10,300,000,000.

Americans waiting to buy stuff they have plenty of

Afghani citizens waiting for something they are out of -- food

We could get ourselves more of this....

Or we would buy her a way out of poverty for $60

Or we could pay for a year of school for one of these kids for $32...

What would Jesus buy?

Bored & restless

It seems to strike me every year at about this time. I want to be doing something different. I begin to work on weaseling my way into ordination or looking at PhD programs, and reading academic journals to dream of my future. Why is this? Why is it that at such an exciting time of the year in the church, I feel so uninspired?
Part of it, I know, is my worship life. The worship services in my current congregation suck the marrow out of me. I try so hard to pay attention to the sermons, but the preacher's pace and tone are such that it renders me zombified. In the event that I do hear the words, they usually sound a lot like, "Blah, blah, blah, Jesus. Blah, blah, blah, church. Blah, blah, prayer." In three years here, I am not sure one sermon has inspired me.
The music is beautiful. But it is my dad's music. I like it once a month -- the organ, the orchestra, the good old setting 4 of the LBW or whatever confusing service we pull out of the new Lutheran Hymnal. I want something that sounds more like Ryan Adams or Death Cab with an occasional bit of Lily Allen thrown in. Something that moves me and speaks to me in my language. I speak "A Mighty Fortress is our God," but that is mostly because it is tradition. It does little to nothing to my soul.
If you don't know me, you are surely wondering why I still go to this church if it makes me feel this way. Well, I work there. And I am not in charge of worship. I make suggestions on occasion, but usually they are met with a bemused look and a statement that kind of sounds like, "That's nice, dear."
Outside of my lack of enthusiasm for worship, I am also affected by the fact that this is the longest I have stayed in one place since high school. I like to move around, see new things, meet new people, and I have been seeing the same people for a while now.
Argh -- I feel so spoiled for even bothering to complain about this. I mean, I am warm, I am comfortable, I am loved. I have a job, I have health insurance, I have running water and food. Still, I have this gnawing, aching feeling that I belong somewhere other than where I am today.

My new favorite cartoons

Thanks to Dan Kimball, I have found a site of wonderfully refreshing cartoons about the church and church life. Here's one of my fave's recently

Check out The Ongoing Adventures of ASBO Jesus

And, as for what ASBO means, "btw. for the non british among you… an ‘asbo’ is an ‘anti-social behaviour order’… the courts here award them to people who are deemed to be constant trouble in their neighbourhoods… presumably according to their neighbours!" from jon birch