The Racist Button

A classmate in grad school was recounting her semester in Seville, Spain, where she met up with a group of American guys.  They invited her to an island for the weekend and she went.  With these strangers.  I was a bit shocked and asked if she was in the least bit afraid, to which she batted her long lashes and replied in her wispy voice, "They were really nice and they were American!"

Lest anyone judge her as being shallow and foolish, I find there are many who associate superficial appearances with deep character traits.  "Character flaws" like being a rapist, or murderer.  We want our crazies to look like Ted Kaczynski, not Timothy McVeigh. We want our crazies to be unkempt, rambling incomprehensibly; not like the nice young man at the Sunoco down the street. 

Most of us have learned that looks can be deceiving, but it seems when faced with it in our lives, we forget.  Maybe we want to forget.  We want life to be simple and worked out for us.  If you are bad, you will look scary.  A scary "badge," as it were.  It's almost an urban lore to have the murderer/rapist/molester's neighbor say, "He was pretty quiet.  Seeemed like a nice guy."

I think we have a primal instinct to identify people that are like us, and therefore deemed safe, while we look at others dissimilar to us and automatically get our guard up.  I talked about this with respect to race before.  But we have evolved, haven't we? And being in an integrated culture, don't we have to think a little harder?  Maybe just even think, for a minute, instead of going to the automatic place?

Sin knows no racial, ethnic, class, gender, or national border.

When the Nazis were rounding up Jews, the neighbors watched.  "Neutral" countries turned their heads.  We'd like to think those German neighbors were hate-spewing, racists sneering at what was going on.  Some were, to be sure.  But I'm betting they were neighbors and merchants and just like you and me and your aunt and your neighbor.  The one that is so nice.

Because you know, no racist thinks they're racist.  They consider it Truth.  Guised in Right and Wrong.  Some dare to base it on the Bible.  The Europeans who ruled Africa did not see themselves as racist.  They just knew that the black natives were lazy, not to be trusted and violent with no rule of law.  It was a Truth.  And to rule over them and force European Law on them, to make them work the land to benefit Britannia was a matter of Right and Wrong.

Do you find people that are a little too quick to believe a story about an angry black mob attacking an innocent white man?  Shake head, "Those blacks...."  They're a little too quick to believe the myth of the "urban single mom," who sucks our taxes by popping out babies for welfare money.  [I grew up in central Pennsylvania and I saw a lot of women with food stamps at the grocery store and none of them were black.]  Do you know someone a little too vehement about illegal immigration?  Now don't be accusing me of approving the breaking of the law. I'm talking about the heart, here.  Have you heard a contempt in their voice for the illegal immigrants themselves, instead of the laws and processes?

Racists(and murders and rapists) don't all live in southern Georgia.  They don't wear uniforms, although there are some that wear those sheets.  Or Nazi paraphernalia.  They don't wear a button.  They wear Dockers and polos and live down the street.  They play with their kids, attend a house of worship.  And seem like a nice person.

...behold! a great multitude that no one could number, **from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages,** standing before the throne and before the Lamb...                                                               - Revelations 7:9

Bad Enough

I've drastically altered how and what we eat in our household over the years.  I believe what we eat is really important, which may sound really obvious.  But if it's so obvious, then why don't more people eat healthy?  I have faced many crossed-arms of closed-mindedness and sardonic looks of disbelief, verging on the eye roll whenever I bring up the notion of Real food or Slow Food, as if I were some far-out Birkie-wearing crunchy granola.  WHICH I'M NOT!  (Not that there's anything wrong with that.) Anyone who writes for a fashion blog by definition, can't be!!

It's not just about whether the food is organic or not, because it's about more than that, but for argument's sake, or a brief blog post's sake, let's say organic food vs. industrialized food.

I realized it's not just that people have to believe organic is better, because I think people do.  It's that they have to believe the industrialized food is bad, or bad enough to make the extra trip, make the effort, pay the extra.  Otherwise, why change?

Why fix somthin' that ain't broked?

I had a long talk with a friend today.  She's seriously considering breaking up her very serious relationship.  He has a serious, congenital health problem that can be dramatically improved by lifestyle changes.  But he won't.  Seriously.  I guess he wants to keep cheating death, but he has to buy into the notion that the lifestyle he's living now is bad, or bad enough to make the change worthwhile.  Right now, he doesn't believe that it's bad enough - for his children, for my friend, for her children...for himself.  It makes me wonder if he values himself.

A former boss wanted to write a little book on change.  He wanted me to do some reseacth and thinking about it.  I was really stumped.  Within the context of Christianity, long-lasting change with regard to the essense of who we are, is impossible without Christ.  We have a Genesis-borne tendancy to deny God's importance in our lives and do what is good in our own eyes.

Change, in terms of day-to-day habits that do not go to the core of our Nature, can be accomplished,  because WE VALUE OURSELVES over all else.  If we believe that what we are doing/saying/living/eating is bad, or bad enough, we will change, to survive..  Maybe it's just the primal survival of the fittest.

These are my thoughts of the day.  More to come...

Until then, enjoy the holiday weekend.  Be positive, be useful, be safe.

Fashion Friday: Blackbelt Summer Action

This is the time when all the stores are desperately trying to clean out their summer stock, right?  Well the same is true for thrift stores.  Yesterday, even though I barely had 10 bucks to my name, I stopped at one of my haunts and SCORED!

Fun watercolor tank by Lucky.  Lucky for me, since these are pretty pricey!  I love how it fits, I love the little ruffle embellishment and the fun colors.

Here's an Old Navy black embellished tank, which I am sure has never been worn!  I'm not sure how long this flowers and ruffles thing is going to last, and I'm already getting tire of it, but I like this because it is subtle and flattering on me.  If I get one summer out of it, it's still worth what I paid!

I love love this t-shirt.  It's so simple and casual, clean and fresh.  It's Faded Glory, sold at WalMart, which is funny because I never go to WalMart.

And look at these adorable shorts I got for Boo!  Not always easy because he won't wear anything that even has a speck of orange or red.  Don't ask me why!  I have no idea!!  I'm determined to have him dress better this school year - instead of gym pants and t-shirts every day - so wish me "bon chance!"

 So.  Tahdah!!

Bedtime Butterflies, Birds & Bees

Butterfly kisses on his damp cheeks.  A long, rough day for my 9-year old.
A punch from a camp-mate.
Too much sun.
Too much fun.
Too much of everything today.
He fought my hugs, wanting to fight the world.  A bed time book, a long, long prayer and lots of hugs brings him to sleep's door.

Little flutters of oma's eyelashes on his baby skin.  Butterfly kisses.

"Is that what butterflies do when they get married?"
I chuckled and said, "I don't know. "
He ponders, "They don't have weddings because they're just insects."
Then concludes, "They just mate - like snakes."

I hope I'll remember this night.  These moments...these moments? They're what make up our life.

Good night, sweet one.

A Shard of Eden

Every Wednesday afternoon, Boo and I make our trip to "The Farm," as we call it.  It's a place about 7 miles from our house, where's we've joined as CSA members.  Every Wednesday, we get our share of vegetables and fruit that are organically grown, bio-diversely farmed, sprouting from non-GMO heirloom seeds.

Boo says hello to the chickens

and walks around with me and Farmer Heather as she gets us our share of greens.  This is in addition to the tomatoes, beans, cucumbers, plums, peppers and the rest of our share of what is currently flourishing.  We also get a dozen or two of healthy eggs, some Farmer-made jams, pickles and such. 

I enjoy finding out, by email, what will fill our cupboard each week.  I love that Jinsok knows where his food comes from.  I love he knows who grows his food, that she works hard, that food comes in cycles and seasons, that sometimes they grow well and sometimes they don't.  But that each time we make our 7 mile trek, we're getting something really fresh - like 1 minute fresh - and that no chemicals are leeching into the waters.

I was hoping that joining a CSA would inspire me to cook more at home.  And it's working!!  Fortunately we like a variety of greens and we like our food rather simply prepared.  Tonight we had (grass-fed) beef and sage sausages, beans, Swiss shard (chard) with some Ezekiel bread.

Make sure there are no bugs in the shard!

Cook the stems first in raw coconut oil and garlic; add the leafy parts and add soup soy sauce to taste.

Feed child.

July Vacation 2011

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I watch my son grow.  In inches and pounds.

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But also in love and joy and even grief.  I see each year, that he loves his extended family more and more.  And as such, his grief is bigger each time we part.  For a mom who never saw her child grieve, it is a beautiful thing to watch big rivulets of shiny run down his ashy, tanned cheeks.  Tears were fears and cries were for old traumas. 

The pure, salty sadness of tears is delicious to my soul.

Who Cares About Organic Clothing??

Whether you see it the earth as God's creation and gift to us, or as Mother Nature brought on by evolution, let's take care of what we have:  the earth and the people that do dwell.

Come read my post on All Things Chic.

Step by Step

She cried, remembering the pain of the dream.

Her first waking sense was the smell of her own tousled hair, and the damp, wrinkled cotton on her face.  It was only then that she felt more than saw the white light of morning.

Her nights were shot with dreams - of chases, abandonments, of her lover just beyond her reach.  He was leaving her and he was cold to her, oblivious to the gnawing, churning inside of her, the pleading that refused to come out of her, locked inside, choking her.

He came in gently to raise her, as he always did.  "I had a bad dream," she whispered.  Then she cried, remembering.  He sat, silent, sympathy on his face but not understanding.  He knew about her dreams, and how she would cry 3 and 4 tissues' worth, even after she was awake and knew it had only been a dream.

"Don't leave me," she begged.
He chuckled, "I'm not planning on it, sweetie."

It was a phrase that never sat right with her, never comforted her in the way she wanted to be.  This time, this time, she challenged him, "I know you're not planning on it, but will you?" she asked with emphasis on the verbs.

He was silent.  His shoulders twitched as it always did when he was uncomfortable.  He was the kind of man, like many men, who felt disingenuous talking about his feelings.  But that discomfort could sometimes look like a person caught in a lie.  Slowly, as if confessing something embarrassing, he said, "Well, it takes steps."  He paused.  "Those things don't just happen."

And in that moment, she understood everything he was trying to tell her:

"I'll never leave you," is the phrase young women want to hear, a romantic ideal of someone's emotional response, eschewing the inevitabilities the future will bring.   "I"m not planning on it," acknowledges the real world temptations but says "I'm committed to you and I will keep my vow to you no matter what I face."

And in that moment, she was comforted in the way she needed to be.

Crossing the Line

Germans are known for their sense of orderliness.
Hispanics for their passion.
American for their "frontier" spirit.

In my last post, I shared that my mother advised me against marrying a Japanese man.  She actually preferred I marry an "American," meaning White, of course, over a Korean man.  This is pretty amazing for back in the day.  She believed that Americans had a more egalitarian view of women than their East Asian counterparts.

Clearly not every white American man treats their wives well.  But there is some cultural understanding and acceptance in America of what constitutes a good or bad husband. Roses on your anniversary, doing the dinner dishes, rubbing your wife's feet: Good.   Having a mistress, going out with an escort, being a couch potato: Bad.  We can name philandering politicians, and we ran to the side of Diana when we found out about Camilla.  There are other cultures whose determination of a Good Husband and Bad Husband differ from ours, right?

When you make an informed characterization of a people, considering their history, age, class, and/or ethnicity, you make generalities, right? whether you're a blogging mom or a Cultural Anthropologist.

When does a sociological characteristic of a peoples turn into prejudice?

Nobody wants to be considered liars, or adulterers, right?  But there are cultures that consider side-stepping to be the correct and appropriate behavior.  There are cultures that consider mistresses a part of male behavior, or even, a right. Is that calling a Spade a Spade, or Pot Calling the Kettle Black?

Everyone knows Asians are good at math, right?  Is that racist?  As a culture, East Asians are good at math.  There are tests of school children to prove it.  My own personal experience indicates that East Asians are much more math literate than their American peers, and this has been confirmed in a book pointing to this alarming condition called Innumeracy: Mathematical Illiteracy & It's Consequences.

So that can't be prejudice, can it?  What's bad about being considered smart?

When does a sociological characteristic of a culture turn into prejudice?

I thinking you cross the line when you take one tendency, good or bad, and apply it to every person of that group.  Conversely, when your observation of one person (or two or three or ten,) in a certain time, a certain place, of a certain class and group and turn it into an observation about the whole ethnic group.

I'm thinking it's when you white-wash an entire group, when you can no longer see, or are no longer willing to see the individual, to consider the person in front of you.  Whether being smart or lazy, precise or dull, that individual is dehumanized, cast in plaster, and made into something of your own imagining.

Things My Mother Told Me

"Dress better than everyone in the room; as a minority, you will always be looked down on."

"Do everything properly; never part way."

"It's better to be small breasted; they won't sag when you're old."

"It's better to marry a lazy smart man than a hard-working dumb man.  A smart man, even if he's lazy, will be able to figure his way out."

"I want my sons to marry Korean women, and my daughter to marry an American man."  (You got your wish, mom!)


"You can marry a Chinese man, but don't marry a Japanese.  They are the worst toward women."


"You have to give men hell every once in awhile."

"You can love a rich man just as much as a poor man, so you might as well marry a rich man."

{By the way, the proper response is to chuckle,slightly shocked, but not offended.}