“Waiter, There’s a Minority in My Soup”

(Originally posted 9/25/2011)

 

I was going to title this post “The Elephant in the Room”, but then you’d think I have a low self esteem, lol.

(Ahem) I’m not white.

Let me allow a moment to compose yourselves…are you ok? Good. Because I can’t change that fact and never really wanted to. But there are times that my minority status has made me stand out and garned me unwelcome attention. Let me be quick to add that, while I was the only minority in the room last night (there were two gents that may have been Native Indian, hard to say), I was not treated with anything less than respect and kindness by any member of Grim’s posse. This isn’t about that. Grim already convinced me that they were staring at me because they’ve met his wife, and SHE’S not East Indian, lol. Poor guy…he’s got lots of ‘splainen to do, lol!

This is about a feeling that very few of my readers will relate to, especially if you’ve never been the only “anything” in any room. The only white guy, the only blonde chick, the only…ANYTHING. And It’s a very disconcerting feeling, trust me. I walk in, everyone turns to stare, as if I dropped trou and crapped in the punch bowl. Yes, my friends, Indian women do ride Harley Davidsons. We also wear clothing OTHER than saris. No, we don’t all have ‘dots’ on our heads. Yes, I speak perfectly clear English with no discernible accent- unless you are a Jehovah’s Witness and I’m missing Judge Judy to answer the door. What’s with all the stereotyping, people?

There are parts of my fair State that haven’t seen anyone darker than a sheet of wax paper in more years than I can count. I avoid these places when I can, not out of fear, but I DON’T LIKE TO BE STARED AT. I am not a zoo animal. Every year, our little bi-racial bunch, along with the Hornet’s family, attend the St. Patty’s Day parade in a tiny town Northwest of us- ten tractors and a fat chick in overalls. Blink, and you’ll miss the parade (and it goes around the block twice). What you also might miss is the underlying Neo-Nazi agenda. But I attend and I smile big. Then I go home and shower until I feel like I’ve washed some of the hate away. Hubby doesn’t understand my reluctance to go. Duh. He’s 6’5 and as white as they come- he’d fit in anywhere except a midget rodeo and even then, he’d offer to give them piggy back rides and free tax advice.

You see where I’m headed with this, I think. My point is simply: Stop stereotyping people. Stop thinking that we are all cut from the same cloth because, for better or worse, we are not. You may not realize that you are doing it, so be more aware of your behavior. Have questions about my dot, my bed sheet, or whether or not I really eat chilled monkey brains before I start my shift at the gas station? Then ASK ME.

Just stop staring at me. Please.