Race, racism, color, sexual orientation, anything to
differentiate people seems to be so rampant in the news right now. We’ve all heard about Paula Deen, Trayvon
Martin, and George Zimmerman, to name a few.
Everyone seems to have an opinion, and most folks seem more than happy
to shout theirs from the rooftops, or their blogs, or their facebook
walls. I’m not going to share my opinion
on any of these issues with you. There
are more than enough forums for argument without me creating yet another
one. But I am going to talk about
people.
I was fortunate enough to be raised by parents who didn’t
teach us to look at people as black, white, Hispanic, or Asian, but to look at
them as people. Human beings,
with unique personalities, likes, dislikes, and ideas. We were taught to like and dislike people
based on the person and how they behaved and lived.
I took this for granted as a child and teenager. It just didn’t really occur to me that people
didn’t take that approach. It wasn’t until
I was older that I realized how truly prejudiced some people are, or how so
many people are so very much aware of race and differences, not thinking of
someone as a person, but as a label. I
find myself alternating between being angry with the labelers for being so
stuck on labels, and pitying them for some of the great friendships that they
will probably never have.
I can’t help but wonder how far some people might be willing
to take labels. My skin is pale, so I’m
considered white, but do I need to explain my ancestry too? Am I to become Danielle, the heterosexual,
pale skinned woman with French, Native American (Cherokee and Apache, if you
need specifics), Italian, and Greek ancestry?
Should I further go on to explain (just to keep my label really
accurate) that while my last name sounds somewhat German, I have no German
ancestry that I’m aware of, and that I merely took my husband’s last name when
we married? I know that sounds
ridiculous, but I don’t see how it’s much worse than deciding that we can or
can’t be friends based on the color of my skin or any other label. Isn’t it easier for me to be just
Danielle? Then you can learn that I love
animals, am chronically late, somewhat pigheaded, and a little obsessed with
feeding people, and then like or dislike me for those and the thousands of
other things that make me me.
On the other end of the spectrum, you come across things
like this post that I read a while back.
I encourage you to check it out.
It’s worth the click and the read.
In it, Mare talks about the colors in her life, not as black and white,
but as paint colors that best match the person’s skin tone. There’s a link to a color wheel where you can
match up yourself or other people using pictures. I haven’t taken the time to do it yet, but it
has tempted me to tell people that I’m cream or vellum (my makeup colors
depending on the season) if they must have a color label for me. Mare matches up quite a few family members,
and it’s interesting to see the different shades and variations, even within
the same family. And some of the color
names are great; some people end up being colors like China Moon or Lilac. It’s a beautiful sentiment, and makes me
think that her life must be very full for having so many people of various colors
in it.
I think about the colors in my life, and I realize that my
life is full of different and colorful people once I actually sit back and
think about the labels that they would be given. There’s Hailie, my Chinese friend, who I
always think of as my only much younger friend, so full of energy, there’s
Jocelyn my black friend, who I always think of as a very outgoing and truly
kind person who seems to have it all together, there’s Sarah my white, lesbian
friend, who I always think of as my Facebook friend who posts great animal
pictures and is a plethora of lawn care/home maintenance information, there’s
Esther my friend from Spain, who I always think of as my older, wiser friend
who’s a mix of friend and older sister, there’s Crystal, my white (though by
very different ancestry than me) friend, who I think of as the diplomat, my
best friend, cohort, etc.
I wasn’t denied any of these friendships because of
labels. Once again, I alternate between
pity for the people who will never be friends with these people because of
labels, and anger at them for callously dismissing some truly wonderful
people.
So I say again, we’re all just people. We all have hopes, dreams, fears,
insecurities, and unique personalities that make us who we are. We don’t need labels for that.
