In Black & White (Revisited Part 1)

2017 is off to an interesting start. Considering that we are now 19 days in… It seems this year is flying by. I ended 2016 with a post sprinkled with a bit of clarity, concerning potentially racial matters in my world. Today, I shall take you on a journey of how I am viewing, and handling (if you want to call it that), such matters, as the new year progresses…

January 5th, surprisingly, (not really), just five days after my last post. I attended a gathering with a group of ladies. I must say, I don’t know any of these ladies personally, and on the face of all things similar, excluding the fact, that we are all women, our single commonality is considering ourselves to be empty nesters. This title encompasses many dynamics, including literally being an empty nester, almost an empty nester, no children, and so on. On the first Thursday each month, there is some type of group outing, usually a restaurant or bar. A casual setting, where the ladies can chat amongst themselves and unwind. This would be my second time with the group, even though each gathering sees different women. Now that the description is out of the way, I’ll explain my expectations. I happened upon this group, while trying to find an outlet for my newfound situation. Having moved to a new city, and away from familiar friends and associates, I thought I would try something new. Realizing how positive change can be, I decided to embrace it. If you know me, you may have heard me say how often I find myself being “the only chocolate chip in the cookie, or vanilla ice cream”, or something similar. If you hadn’t before now, well, there ya go. I find this both charming, and challenging. I am generally one to try new things, think outside the box, and more often than not, there aren’t many folks like my “kind”, in the mix. The charming part is learning new things, or gaining a new skill. The challenging part is awkward stares, unspoken words, and body language that begs the question of why I am, where I end up. Anyhoo, bear with me here… The first event I attended was, what I’ll call, a charity event. We met at a local clothing boutique, donated toys for children, enjoyed a few appetizers, mingled; or not, and left. I met a couple of women, I felt, I connected with, and we agreed to meet in the future, outside of the group events. One of the ladies and I, actually went for dinner and entertainment, shortly after. Now, on to that first Thursday night of this new year…

This particular night, was touted as a “Potluck and Guided Conversation”. Again, if you know me, you will also know, that I am not fond of potlucks. However, new year, new things. Why not? I love the idea of guided conversations, or any conversations, for that matter, as I feel we don’t have quite enough of them as a society. I immediately RSVPed, and began to decide what I would make. I figured if all else failed, I would just eat what I brought. I ended up taking apple fritters with walnuts and Biscoff drizzle. I even took a portion, sans nuts, in case someone was allergic. I was pleasantly surprised, once I arrived, and found there were many tasty choices. Moving on… I was greeted with smiles and felt excited to be there. Neither of the 2 ladies I met at the charity event, were able to make it, so I knew none of the ladies. The host, who I met before, and a couple of ladies, who recognized me from the last event, expressed how happy they were to see me again. The night was off to a great start. There was a therapist in attendance, and she proceeded to ask a few questions, to prompt the guided conversation, and away we went. If I counted correctly, there were 18 women in attendance. As I mentioned before, each gathering sees different women, and there were at least 5 newbies. One in particular, will be the focus of this post…

It has taken me 2 weeks to gather my thoughts, in preparation for this writing. While I collected my thoughts, I just so happened to collect more data to share. It literally at times felt, like I was in the middle of an experiment of some sort. Back to the story… This one particular woman, I shall call her Kay, almost from the beginning, stood out for me. She just seemed, different, yea, that’s a good word. Throughout the time other ladies were speaking, she would raise her hand, as if she had a question. She would put it down again, then repeat. Finally, when it was her turn, she asked if all of the attendees knew each other. There was a resounding buzz of laughter and the chorus of “nooo”, could be heard above the harmony. She went on to ask if there was ever a time when everyone was allowed the opportunity to introduce, and share a bit about themselves. Our host, apologized for not bringing up that idea, and decided that this moment would be as good a time as any. She asked Kay, if she would mind starting. Kay then went on to playfully exclaim how the “teacher was punishing her”, by asking her to start. To most, that was a bit humorous, as there were chuckles, but to me, it raised a bit of a red flag… She then spent what seemed like forever, but was probably about 15 minutes, talking about her daughter, who is in her 30’s, maybe 40’s, I don’t recall. Also, from the looks of Kay, she could be in her late 60’s, early 70’s, maybe older. She talked so long, I, as well as some other ladies, started to squirm in our seats. A couple of times, someone would interrupt in an attempt to take the floor back. But, each time, she recovered. Once, I even heard someone voice, what I can imagine, we all assumed, that this would be about ourselves, not our children. Eventually, she stopped rambling, and the next lady took a turn. Finally, it was my turn to introduce myself. Quick side note, wherever I go, my name is most certainly going to be butchered. This has been my thorn, for as long as I can remember. I went in thinking I could be proactive, save myself some time, and assist the other ladies in the proper saying of my name. So, as I wrote on the name tag, I decided to use the symbol, –, over the e, in my name. I thought it would work, but, it didn’t. I was even asked what that symbol is called, after someone read, mispronounced, then realized she mispronounced, my name, and that the –, was meant to assist in the sounding out of the vowel. I didn’t know at the time, but in case you are wondering, it’s called a macron. I don’t know how to pronounce it. You’re welcome…

As I proceeded to recite the words I had been practicing while waiting for my turn, practicing, because I am every bit of an introvert, who tries to engage in extroverted activities, I was suddenly, and rudely interrupted. By, you guessed it, Kay. All I really remember was saying something like, “my name is Anetra Galloway, something, something, as you know, I have 4 children, something, something, something…” Then suddenly, Kay spews, “well Anetra, (pronounced proudly, and correctly), you know this is Trump country?” I really want to insert an emoji here, (but I’ll just let your response guide you, in which one you feel, is appropriate). I literally heard gasps, just before dead silence. I sat stunned with my mouth ajar, and as the words seeped into my psyche, I begin to slowly tilt my head, side to side, like a pet trying to understand its human’s language. In my mind, I was asking, “why?”.  As if that weren’t enough, when I didn’t respond, she reiterated, just in case I missed it the first time. I can only imagine that my face was as red as some of the other faces in the crowd. I went from shock, to anger, to pity, in a matter of seconds. As I awoke from my racism induced coma, I began to try to recover the sentence I was in the middle of, before the bigotry shots were fired. I heard someone behind me say, “its ok, Anetra, (pronounced correctly), take a breath”, or something soothing, like that. I continued, with my introduction, through often clenched teeth, while battling a shaky voice. I vaguely remember someone trying to justify her ignorance, by saying, “she probably just meant…”, I have no idea what the rest was, but, it wasn’t enough to negate Kay’s verbal bile. I passed the baton (figuratively), to the next person, and we all tried to move past the moment as if it were imagined. Every so often, someone would catch my eye, and offer an apology of sorts, at one point, I locked eyes with someone who mouthed “what the f***!”, and I can honestly say, I agreed with her sentiment. After 2 more people spoke, Kay decided to take an exit. But, not before she thoroughly enjoyed one of my fritters. I know this, because I saw her facial expressions of pleasure, as she devoured it. I wonder if she would have enjoyed it so much, had she known I made it… I so wanted to meet her in the parking lot. Just. To. Talk… We round robinned the intros and finally arrived at the last one. In the middle of her sharing, she paused, pointed at me, and said, “I want to say to you…”, that’s as far as she got before I felt the need to fight back the tears. I started shaking my head no, because I knew if she kept talking, I would lose the fight. She apologized for the offense, and told me how welcome I was to the group. I heard a hum of agreement from the crowd. She then, continued her intro without missing a beat. But, the damage was done. My right eye betrayed me, and I felt my face crumbling like a 2 year old, being told to take a nap. She looked at me and saw the impending breakdown, and gently scolded me, “No, don’t you do that”, but I was too far gone. I started to cry, the host rushed over to me and gave me a hug. This was turning out to be quite a night. After the last person was done, I think we all felt a bit awkward. A few last minute words were said, and we all took the cue that this event was over. Straight away, I found myself caught in an embrace by the lady who apologized, as she hugged me, and kissed my right cheek, another lady came over for a “group hug”. Many of the ladies came up to me and expressed their disapproval of Kay’s actions. One, going so far as to say, she would not tolerate any further mention of his name. She actually said it, I mentioned it once, and I don’t want to type it again… I was invited to coffee, and given contact info from 4 of the ladies. I thanked them all, and departed as fast as was appropriate.

Now, to unpack this scenario. I must first address my tears. My feelings were not hurt by her words. In fact, I felt sorry for her, because she felt the need to be so mean, AND at her age. Apparently, wisdom does not come with time. The tears were because, I was frustrated. Frustrated because I find myself frequently taking the high road. I wonder if the other ladies were expecting me to react in the way so many Facebook posts, involving blatant racism, unfold. Cussing. Violent. Indignant. I will say, if I had sprinted across the room and punched her in the mouth, called her a bigot, and flipped tables, I may have been within my rights, and even applauded, in some circles. But, this was neither the time, nor the place. Hence, the tears. Frustration at its finest. When is it ever the time or place, for non whites to clap back at hate, by acting in an unflattering way? The last thing I wanted, was to find myself going viral on social media, for socking an old white woman in the throat. You know you were thinking it… I knew these women would go home and move on with their lives, probably even share the incident with friends and family. What I didn’t want to be a part of the narrative, was my allowing myself to stoop to her level. I questioned my motives for putting myself in a situation where this type of thing could happen, (as I often do). Some might say, I got what I deserved for involving myself with people who are different from me. That’s where I agree to disagree. Had it been a group of melanated ladies, would I have had a more positive outcome? Maybe, maybe not. I will elaborate more on that, in another post… Back to this incident… I’ve often been in situations where someone is being seemingly bigoted toward me, and I question whether it’s racism or rudeness, or both. However, there was no doubt in my mind, that this was meant to be racist. To be clear, I feel she may have set up the introductions, as a way to be certain she was able to strike. Otherwise, I can’t imagine a moment where she would have had such an opportunity. Regardless, of the how, it happened. I tend to see these moments as learning experiences. Just how much am I willing to take before… well… before what, I don’t know. Anytime you go someplace you’ve never been, you are bound to run into someone who feels insecure, and finds comfort in bullying others. That’s how I see Kay. An old, bitter bully. Surprisingly, I would love to have a chat with her, find out why she found joy in trying to hurt me. Everyone has a story. I just wonder if she is bold enough to tell the truth. Being a bluntly racist bully, doesn’t automatically make you an honest, straightforward human. It just makes you appear nasty and mean. I wonder what made her feel her actions were acceptable in that room, on that particular night. If she thought she succeeded in causing me to tuck and run, she is sadly mistaken. I no longer wear my feelings on my sleeve, the way I did for so many years. Her behavior only served as a reminder, that there will always be at least one person in the crowd, who craves attention. The good news is, many of the ladies enjoyed my fritters, and for days, there were messages back and forth, about how tasty they were. I was even asked to get back into catering, or better yet, as one person put it, “just come to my house.” Yea, for a brief moment, slave junk popped in my head, but, I digress. For those of you reading this, who are white, and don’t consider yourselves to be racist, just know that enough of your race has shown themselves to be such, that it can sometimes be hard for us melanated folk, to trust that you have good intentions. I am certain that could also be said in reverse.

As we end the era of having our first, and quite possibly only, “black” president, whatever that may mean in your world, and we spend the last few hours of this day, before we get the new “one”, I wonder just how bold these people will get. It may not be a question we want the answer to, but it seems the flood gates are open. I imagine there will be an infinite number of stories to be told and heard, from tomorrow, into eternity. My stories, and yours, unfortunately. I don’t have the luxury, (nor would I welcome the luxury), of shutting myself off from the world. As disgusting as this person’s behavior was, there are so many more people, who welcome my presence, and conversation, people who value bridging the gap between the racial divide.  I won’t give up on humanity. There are millions of people out there, who want to get to know each other, beyond race. Where do you stand? I’m on the side of love; not hate.

I revisited this topic to give an example of how I was treated rudely, and with racism, by a white woman. In another post, I’ll visit the “black” side. Stay tuned…

I know this post may have been long, for some of you. So, if you made it to the end. Congratulations, and thank you. Please share, and/or comment. I would love to get a conversation started. However, hate will not be tolerated.