The poem in this article brought back memories of a couple conversations I've had recently. I can relate to the poem- I constantly feel like I'm translating for people. I watched a movie with a buddy from class the other night- Percy Jackson And The Olympians: The Lightning Thief- which is a fantastic movie, by the way. I think we were about 15 minutes into the movie, maybe 30, when I looked at the screen and said 'Why is the only minority in this movie the main character's protector?' My buddy stopped and, being a white male, noted that he wouldn't have realized that if I hadn't pointed it out. This movie was made this year. It's a wonderful movie, but the one person of color in this movie is a protector who spends more of his time chasing tail than doing much else, though he is depicted as a good guy. He is a black male.
It really bothers me how much black folks are depicted sexually versus everyone else. Black females in particular.
The other conversation I had was with another white male friend, also in the Army. To be honest, he's the first white man to not only agree with my views on race, but to be able to finish my sentences on that. He grew up "without race" as he explained it, those being his exact words. His stepfather was in the Navy, and he- we will call my friend Tank- grew up without ever noting race. His stepfather could speak proper English (by American standards, anyhow) as well as being fluent in the language known to Americans as Ebonics. While I don't know that there is enough separation between the media and Ebonics to keep the majority of Gen-X and younger Americans ignorant of the language, you also don't notice a lot of older white folks speaking this way. Hell, in some places, that's something white folks simply don't do. I can understand, all to well, Tank's frustration with the racial separatism I've seen so much in the Army, and the way some people depict themselves. The fact that an over-sexed, violent, under-educated culture is celebrated in music and in practice is embarrassing, I would think, to all involved. I like hip-hop, but have a harder and harder time with the more violent/sexual lyrics. I think it reflects badly on American culture as a whole, and only perpetuates ridiculous racial and gender stereotypes.
It was interesting to me, not to mention a bit relieving, to see two so very different realities expressed by two men of the same race. It's no secret at this point that I don't date many white men. I have very strong opinions when it comes to race, with a lot of experience behind them, and most white men a) simply don't know what it is to be a minority and b) don't really want to be bothered by the uncomfortable subject.
Things are getting better, but we're not out of the woods yet, folks.
The first male I referred to is a wonderful guy, and I've really enjoyed spending time with him these last few weeks. He showed me what it is to be a single woman, and was the first to really give me a nudge on enjoying that part of my life. Tank, I think, was sent to me for the opposite reason.
Tank and I have been friends for a while. We've related to one another on levels that are often hard to describe and not always comfortable to acknowledge with other folks. He has PTSD, as I do, though his is from doing his job. He absolutely refuses to label himself PTSD- a sentiment I can understand all too well at this point- and mostly refuses to believe that's what it is, though he can identify the demons individually, and has no doubt as to from whence they came. He is a truly wonderful man, and I'm not at all ashamed to say I love him. It's hard not to love someone who you relate to on so many levels. I can only hope I am able to push him to help himself, because seeing the way he hurts himself and his family pains me deeply, though it takes quite a bit to get that through to him.
When Tank and I first met, he tried to throw me attitude, hoping I'd go away just like every other female he managed to irritate and piss off within 10 minutes of meeting. No such luck, my friend, I am not so easily scared off. I thought he was amusing, and maintained a friendship with him. Emails sustained and, recently, I got to spend some time hanging out with him that only solidified what we both knew- we were way too much alike. The conversations we've had over these last few days are honestly mind-blowing. He refuses to let me accept the idea that I'm not meant to be with anyone, and refuses to let me believe that things will be as hard as I think they will. He thinks I can do anything, and that I deserve the best.
He is married, I should add, and happily, so don't go taking this as a relationship. My friendship with this man-beast means far more to me than any relationship ever could.
To see a self-proclaimed a-hole open up and speak about things like race on such an honest level, particularly someone who could so easily allow his view to be engulfed by white male privilege, as so many others do, touched me deeply. To talk to someone about my experiences, about my own wild ride with PTSD and all the things it came from, and have them tell me I'm beautiful and worth the absolute best... It blew me away.
This friendship, I say again, is worth more to me than any relationship ever could be.
We understand each other, and that's something I don't think I've really experienced like this before.
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