Introspecting My Soul

I was born to a family that spoke Italian fluently. Half of them were born in Italy. Their elder siblings were born in Croatia. Some of them remembered the slavic language, but all of them spoke Italian. Italians in the 70s in the New England region of the United States were stereo-typically racist. They resented the fact that in the Italian history, they lost their blonde and blue eyes because the Moors invaded and "raped" their women and turned the "look" of the Italian people from Swedish-like to Latino-style. It was a memory in the Italian history books that created a sub-conscious "racism" towards black people and created some Italian stereo-types which were exaggerated when I was a child. However, we still had the peace-loving hippies putting out stuff like Sesame Street and School House Rock. Those humanists who taught diversity and the benefits of embracing all cultures and peoples. Even the "gangstas" had their favorite "black" sheep for example Sammie Davis Jr. in one of the original old school mob gangs.

I grew up in a suburb of Tampa Bay. When I was a teenager, racism wasn't discussed that much except for maybe those who were still questioning the necessity for bussing students from one district to another for cultural mixing purposes. That bussing routine was an idea that came about during the Kennedy regime with the help of activists like Martin Luther King. Jr and others who wanted diversity ingrained in ALL schools. My mother appeared "racist" when she was angry about watching me get bussed (an hour away) to a "ghetto" neighborhood school after she had purchased a house in "white suburbia". It was complicated. A decade later, a black family purchased the house next door. We weren't the ones to say "Oh no, there goes the neighborhood."

I don't think I am racist. However in my fifty years of living as a white woman with brown hair and brown eyes, I've experienced racism and seen racist people. Some racist people were white. Some racist people were black. Some racist people were something else. They had their own reasons for their opinions. It wasn't my job to convince them differently. I've been accused of racism and I was offended. I would try to quote MLK Jr., but the racists don't want to hear about him when you try to employ his thoughts or methods. They prefer Malcolm X.

How am I racist? How can anyone call me a racist? Is it because I see in color? Is it because when someone says "What does she look like?" I can reply, "She was white," or "She was black" without getting bent out of shape about it. Is it because I don't do illegal drugs? Is it because I majored in English in college? Is it because I disagreed with "gang" mentality or "hazing" mentality? Is it because I'm a wimp? Is it because I'm WHITE?

I want to do a deep introspection. Going way back into my childhood memories I recall my first negative opinion about a black person. I was a kid staying at my grandmother's place in Passaic, New Jersey. I had just been gifted a new Big Wheel, a little plastic tryke toy. I was riding it around the neighborhood which was filled with various ethnic groups or "races". Other children saw me riding my new Big Wheel. They saw the smile on my face. I was too naive to know what racism was. I hadn't even been to school yet. Maybe I was about four years old. I didn't have the Big Wheel for more then a day. The next day the Big Wheel was gone. I looked around and could not find it. Then I saw two black children riding around on the sidewalk on a Big Wheel. Hey, that looks just like MY Big Wheel. Where did they get that? My Big Wheel is gone and now they have one. Did that make me racist because I suspected they had stolen it? I did not confront them about it. Did that make me racist because I knew the confrontation would make things worse? I told my mother and grandmother that my Big Wheel was gone. They did not get me another one. They shrugged as if it was my fault the Big Wheel was gone. As if I was supposed to fight off theft somehow.

Time went on and I forgot about the Big Wheel or my first impression of little black children. I went to school. In second grade I was a geek, just a good student who wanted to excel in some area. One day walking home from school, two Spanish girls followed me. They wanted to beat me up. I don't know why. I had done nothing to them. I think they just wanted to see how wimpy I was. I tried to run away. I got home alright, but they confronted me. Two! Two Spanish girls against one geek. I was terrified. I told my grandmother and I told my teacher the next day. I was just a wimpy scared tattle-tell. I was gutless. Those two Spanish girls laughed at me. Who was racist? Did that create some kind of racism in my mind? I still liked Cuban sandwiches and my Aunts were married to Spanish men. I still wanted to learn Spanish.

School years went on. One of my best friends was Cuban. Her name was Katia. Another best friend was Indian. Her name was Pratima. They were lovely and wonderful and good to me. Did that make me racist?

I grew up. I graduated from high school and college. I was promiscuous for awhile. I mostly chose "gringos" - tall white men to be my "dance" partners. Why? Was that racist? They kept accusing me of it.

Then around 2008 and 2009 I had my first "love" affair with a black man. We saw each other for about six months and it was lovely. He was sexy and smart and fun to be with. We had to go our separate ways. It was circumstantial. We didn't hurt each other, not that I'm aware of. Did I prove I wasn't racist by sleeping with a black man?

Then Obama became President. While he was in office for eight years there was not much talk of racism. I supposed that was the proof America needed. MLK Jr and Malcolm X had both failed, but Obama would prove that America wasn't racist. Yet after his term was over, the same racist conversations came back. I was being accused again. Everyone was being accused and the situation was worse than ever. Someone I know said, "It's the White House, not the Black House." I laughed, not because I'm racist, but because I couldn't believe she had the GUTS to say something so racist.

I'm not brave. I'm just a weak old lady now at the age of pathetic fifty. However, I am NOT a racist. I treat people the way they treat me. If they are nice, I am nice. If they are rotten, I walk away. I listen and I watch. I feel. I am still naive about some things, but I know who I am. I am not racist.