Eyes Open: I'm trying to learn... chapter 1
I was brought up in a small southern town in the foothills of North Carolina. Not much diversity, but some. My family was nice - nice enough to raise me to be nice in all the right ways. And not just my family. The culture, so it seemed, the way it was, was that you just didn't "see color," when it came to someone's skin. Be nice to everyone. Everyone should be the same and treated as such. It is only now, 38 years into my life, that I realize that "not seeing color," is maybe not the best way to be nice. I have a lot of work to do to get to the bottom of what that means. Years and years of learned behavior. Even fear, really. As ridiculous as that sounds. Fear in that I will say the wrong thing, or be offensive to someone, not meaning to be. Years of staying silent for the feeling that it wasn't my place to speak up. Who was I to say anything at all? Why was I so afraid? Is that in and of itself racist? The fear of being racist? What does that mea