it boils down to this

I am afraid of black people.
Seeing a black person on the street makes me paranoid. And to make it even more ridiculous, there's two distinct levels to this paranoia. Level 1- Woops, I saw them. Where do I look? Do I look? Do they think I'm staring? Is it obvious that I've noticed them? Did I look away too soon? Do they think I'm being rude? Am I being rude?
This is general social paranoia, but cranked to extreme high volume because of the persons color. It's contemptible.

Level 2-Are they gang bangers? Do they look dangerous? Do they look like crime people? Are they poor? What's their hair like? Are they dressed all flashy?


By this time of course the black person is several miles away buying roofing nails at Lowes or something.

I was taught very early on in no uncertain terms that black people were bad. My father believed it. In his words, black people hated the whites because we had all the money and they had been slaves, and only the very lowest kind of black person ever had anything to do with white people. My mother? Was raped, beaten and thrown down a flight of stairs by a black man in New York back before she was married. She didn't like them either, no.

My personal experience? Every black person I have ever known, dated (one), been friends with, worked for and worked with has been pretty much just like me, an average everyday working slob. So personally? It's a non-issue on that level. But I don't trust that. And not trusting it makes me act like a dipshit. That fear is always in the back of my mind. 'You have to be extra, extra careful around black people', is what that fear is all about. The fear that you are going to say something stupid, sooner or later, something really ignorant and thoughtless, or display some kind of cultural bias you aren't even aware you have until you get that look and realize what a goddamn cracker you sound like. Princess Klanella Ofay of Trailerparkania. Oh hell yes, I've done it, too.

I am probably living in the same town with a fair variety of genuinely bad people, criminals and deviants, face it; if only by virtue of sheer odds, and living in Sumas means that the vast majority of those are going to be white. Do I worry about white people when I pass them on the street? I don't even give them a second thought.
Fuck this.

Now, I am not looking for absolution or explanations. I know exactly why I feel the way I do; it's real obvious that the larger portion is early indoctrination and the rest is too many music videos. Maybe what I'm doing here is residual catholic confessional compulsion or something. The fact remains that here I am, middle aged, tripping when I see a black person walking down the sidewalk. I don't know. It's all stupid.

i finally do get to the point of this post by the end

I was just standing around in the kitchen, not sufficiently caffeinated to have much of a purpose in mind, watching my Yummy Biker fry up some eggs.
One of the nicest things in the world is watching an egg fry. They make a nice chuckling sound and they bubble, the edges get brown and lacy and the yellow beams up at you like a happy sun. I need breakfast.

The poor Goonybird got sent home from daycare yesterday crusted with goop. He has a less virulent version of the crud I have, poor little tato.

His daycare is a great place. Someone bought adjoining residential properties in the middle of Bellingham, enclosed the whole thing with a fence and turned it into a really neat kid compound like a little secret garden world. The house at the back of the garden is toddler Seg. When I went back there with the teacher I could hear a chorus of tired little voices joined in the 'Just Woke Up From Afternoon Nap' seranade. It cracked me up, and the teacher cracked up too. They know better than to let the little diaper demons into GenPop.

After a visit to the doctor, I took him back home and we watched The Wizard of Oz three times. I feel it is my job as his grandmother to introduce him to Great Camp Film while he is young and moldable. 'You told me to live, live, LIVE!' he'll shout when his mommy discovers him eating carpenter ants, covered in postage stamps. 'Well, I LIVED!' He should have a solid foundation in the classics by the time he is ready for kindergarten. Which child is my grand son? The one sitting in Morning Sharing Circle with a newspaper on his head throwing hot dogs at the teacher. *snif* damn, need a tissue.
I am a postmodern grandma.

I have a very disturbing and very politically incorrect group of memories dealing with mentally challenged kids. This is an issue that I am going to be working out in this space. I am going to post them next. I do not intend to be anything other than what I have always been or to express myself kindly or carefully. If this is a tender subject for anyone, either get ready or plan other activities. Nobody has to read it and nobody gets blamed for avoiding it either. Hell, I've been avoiding it for forty years.

The same goes for the subject of race. I have noticed a real redneck, racist tone coming out in some of my stuff...yesterdays' entry in particular. I will be dealing with it the same way, with the same language. I'd better. Nobody has to read this stuff. Any of you who are black, bear in mind that I am completely lost in this subject. I know nothing about black culture and I don't know the polite or correct way to express myself and it's going to show. I do not like this in myself. Butt-ignorance is not a pretty thing. I invite you to smarten me up. God knows I need it.

You Have Been Warned.

Does anyone have a bible story or something that they'd like me to write an insightful and exhaustively researched essay on? Or a school of art, or something? Because I'm going to need to lighten up the tone around here occasionally during the course of all this garbage. Send in your requests or ideas. I already have a trove of inappropriate Venus nipple tweaking cached....

hiya, marian!

Omigod!!!!!
I just got my first Nigerian Scam letter!

*****************************
From Hajia Mariam Dear Beloved, Due to the sudden death of my husband General Abacha the former head of state of Nigeria in June 1998, I have been thrown into a state of hopelessness by the present administration.I have lost confidence with anybody within my country. I got your contacts through personal research,and had to reach you through this medium. I will give you more details when you reply. Due to security network placed on my daily affairs I cant visit the embassy so that is why I have contacted you. My husband deposited $12.6million dollars with a security firm abroad whose name is witheld for now till we communicate. I will be happy if you can receive this funds for safe keeping and I assure you a very good percent of this fund I will instruct my son to contact you so please feel free to comunicate with my son. I await your urgent response, Hajia Mariam. NOTE: SEND ME YOUR CONTACT TELEPHONE NUMBER SO THAT MY SON MUSTAPHA CAN CALL AND DISCUSS WITH YOU VERBALLY REGARDING THIS TRANSACTION SO THAT YOU CAN ASK ANY QUESTION THAT YOU FEEL LIKE ASKING REGARDING THIS TRANSACTION
*************************************

*Snif* they like me!
They really like me!


The first thing I will buy is a three month vacation at a fat sucking spa. Once my fat is sucked and distributed to the peasants or whatever they do with it I will proceed to Tiffany's, Rodeo Drive, and buy one of those huge cheap looking necklaces done up in c grade novelty colored diamonds...maybe a Parve hesher, I'm thinking! The size of a hubcap!
Then on to Fredricks of Hollywood! Only the top designers will do. I have decided that I want to look like Lil' Kim because hotpants and lame' pasties are so today.
People everywhere will fall all over themselves because one look will tell them I am rich.
I will go to Alinea and eat polymerized tamari off a car ariel.
I will go to Japan and eat fugu. I will eat fugu till I'm googoo. Then I will barf on their prime minister because it seems to be the American thing to do.
I will snort cocaine off Rowan Atkinsons bare ass!
Wooooo, I'm gonna be rich! I'm gonna be rich!

And hey, lissen, Frobisher...you get ahold of your dusky princess and tell her you have enough money to rent a tux now. With a percentage of 12.6 million dollars as good as mine, I can afford to be generous!