White Privilege

So, like most Americans, I watched the videos flying around social media that show the arrest of two African-American men in a Philadelphia Starbucks for waiting on a third friend to show up before ordering.  And I was pissed for them and for their family and friends.  I was pissed that they had to force themselves to be calm and submissive to the police officers who should not have even been called in the first place, because I would have been loud as hell.  I was pissed that they were taken down to the precinct and arrested and fingerprinted and held in a cell until 12:30 the following morning, when they were released as though nothing had happened and they should just be okay with it. And I was pissed that EVERY OTHER CUSTOMER IN THE STORE stood up and told these arresting officers that they had not done anything wrong (these were witnesses!) and still they were taken away and humiliated and had their fingerprints put into the automated fingerprint identification system.  Due to some itchy and probably subconscious bigotry of a random Starbucks manager and his inability to say, “Order or get out,” or even more humanly, to be patient and give these two men the same patience he would have given any other white customer, these two men will now have difficulty getting a security clearance, a job that requires a background check, work with or volunteer with children or elderly. And all for the simple fact that their fingerprints will pop up in the database. I thought that I was as pissed as I could be.  I was wrong.  Because this morning, I saw this tweet:

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I was sort of pissed because I thought, “Well, if no one had said anything, then they would be complicit in their silence.  And when we do stand up and say something, we’re still getting labeled with the word ‘privileged’ and damn. What do you want us to do?”

And then I realized Chris Evans’ point:  HE’S RIGHT.

It’s not about me.  He’s pointing out that this IS the privilege and, while I’ve always realized that I have it, I never asked for it. I never asked to be born white. He is condemning that one group of people has a privilege that the rest of the world doesn’t. Why should any of us have that privilege? It is less a criticism of my whiteness, than it is stating the obvious:  The white customers in the same Starbucks were ignored by the cops.  Had they been black and argued with the cops, they would have been arrested, too.

And that isn’t just an assumption on Chris Evans’ part.  This is something that we have all witnessed, either in real life or in video in the past.  In 2016, an African-American woman called the police in Fort Worth, Texas to report a white man for choking her son because he allegedly threw a piece of trash on the ground. The officer shows up, agrees that the boy shouldn’t have littered and did not even address the assault on the child. The mother argued with the cop and was clearly angry but not aggressive and he used the taser on her and her daughter who started to scream at the officer out of fear for her mother. The woman and her two daughters were arrested.

I thought about all of this and other filmed injustices that I have seen over the years.  I have come to the conclusion that I am not pissed at what Chris Evans tweeted out. I am pissed that it is true.

But I will continue to use my white privilege to stand up for the injustices of others. It and my voter registration card and my voice are really the only tools in my toolbox that I can use to help the situation.  I will continue to speak out.  I will continue to write letters.  I will continue to teach my kids that bigotry and ignorance and hate will only continue to hold them and everyone else back; that our differences are beautiful and something to be admired and cherished rather than hated or feared.  I will continue to be pissed about my fellow countrymen being treated unjustly, because the minute that I don’t, I will have become the oppressor via complacency.

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Anticipation

I dropped her off two weeks ago yesterday.  She left the next morning with her aunt and uncle and cousins.  They were heading west to meet my parents at the halfway point between their house and ours.  That’s not a quick road trip when you live in Texas.  They all had lunch together and stretched their legs and made their goodbyes.  She and one of her cousins climbed into the backseat of their grandparents’ car and continued their journey west.  My sister and her family turned around for the five hour drive back home.

Two weeks without a teenager in the house sounds like bliss during the Summer when you have four others living with you, too.  It’s not.  I am happy that she got to bond with her grandparents.  I am grateful that they took them to see such awesome and amazing natural sites of New Mexico and Arizona.  I am elated that my niece and daughter have had time together, away from their siblings and parents, to build that strong friendship and trust that cousins should have.  But the hole in my heart while she has been away has been difficult to deal with.

I love all of my nearly grown and grown children.  Each one has their own section in my heart.  I enjoyed spending time with my boys this Summer.  I learned that a lot of our conversations are interrupted by my daughters.  With only one daughter, the one who is usually blamed for these interruptions, I realized that it’s not only she who breaks into these moments with the boys.  I need to work on that.

I realized that my two girls, who fight daily because they share a bedroom, love each other to pieces and actually miss one another.  Randa slept in Samiya’s bed the first five days she was gone, just to feel close to her.  She had nightmares the last few days.  She kept getting out of bed, panicked, shouting, “Get in the car, Mommy!  It’s Samiya, trapped in a cave.  It’s save Samiya. Bring her home NOW!”  (She had seen the photos of Samiya and her cousin in Carlsbad Caverns from the second leg of their trip.)  Anxiety and Autism has a way of altering perspectives sometimes.  It took a lot of consoling and coaxing to convince her that Samiya was safe and back at Granddad’s house and that she would be home in just a few days.

Her brothers have missed her, too, although mostly as it relates to the frequency of their turns to wash dishes.  Ismail mentioned to me that he had been texting her throughout the two weeks.  Aiman had been talking to people they regularly game with online and talked to me excitedly about how Samiya had been promoted to a higher level on their team.  Mohamed talked with her, too, a few times by phone while she was gone.

But the person who has missed her most is her father.  He kept asking during the whole two weeks, “It’s long enough, right?” and when I told him that my sister planned to stay the night out there and come back Sunday, I could see his face fall just a little.  Then he said, “We should celebrate her coming back.  I’ll bring home chickens and you grill them on Sunday.  It will be a welcome home party.”  Daddy’s little girl personified.

Today, Randa will be pacing back and forth to the front door to check for her aunt and uncle’s car.  They drove out through the desert again to pick the girls up from Dad’s house.  And I will be washing and cooking and prepping for her return, trying to keep busy so I don’t jump out of my skin with excitement.  I missed my girl.

 

Summer of Wisdom…err, Teeth

Back in September or October, Randa’s dentist informed me that her wisdom teeth were starting to come in.  She gave us a referral to an oral surgeon and we called.  No joy.  He no longer accepted Randa’s dental insurance.  We tried another.  Same result.  We tried three more.  Finally, in February, we found an oral surgeon in north Dallas.  Or so we thought.  We drove up for the preliminary appointment; no easy feat from our house during peak morning rush hour.  The doctor seemed capable and friendly and gentle with Randa.  We went out front to schedule the surgery.  The receptionist said that it would take about a week to hear back from the insurance company and then she would call me.  She handed me prescriptions to have filled and gave me a folder with some antibiotics in a pouch stapled to the inside.  Long story, short:  It took them until freaking July to get approval from the insurance company and surgery scheduled.  Wow.

So, last week we had it done.  She did fine, all things considered.  She’s still puffy and swollen and eating soft foods.  But we’ve weaned her off the hardcore pain meds and she’s taking ibuprofen and sleeping well.  Only she keeps telling me that “Dr. Brown is a bad, bad man.  Put tooth back on.”  Perhaps she’ll think differently when she’s able to eat fried foods and drink through a straw again.

So, while Randa has been recuperating, I took Ismail and Aiman to the dentist for a regular check up.  Ismail’s wisdom teeth also appeared to be ready to come out.  This dentist sent us to an oral surgeon just 10 minutes up the road from us who actually takes our insurance.  (Had I known back in February….*sigh*)  We went yesterday and had the appointment and yes, he needs them yanked out.  We should be hearing back next week and he should be recuperating in two.

It used to be that Summer vacation time was about road trips, running through sprinklers, and eating popsicles.  Now it’s about not missing school days while you recover.  At least there are still popsicles.

Stress in My Pressure Cooker Head

I was planning on writing today about how my “to-do lists” have become so long and intense that my body has started to fall apart. But just looking at that title has given me the start of an anxiety attack and my chest hurts now and my joints are throbbing and I just realized that I’m already late to go pick up one of the kids from Summer school.

So, perhaps I’ll write about this later under some soothing, aromatherapy inspired title post so that I won’t freak out about how even AFTER school lets out I can’t catch a freaking break.

the end.