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Acceptance: Rock On, Snow Flake Woman!
(or, A Humorous Tale of Race and Rhetoric).
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.
–Reinhold Niebuhr, The Serenity Prayer
I am not a religious person. Frankly I find the above quote a bit corny, but it is relevant to this post. I am whiter than white. If there was an Encyclopedia Humanicus my ilk would be classified as follows:
Honkious Bohemious: A woman of white Anglo Saxon Protestant (W.A.S.P.) origin who does not adhere to said lifestyle. Instead of having 2.4 children and living in the suburbs she can be found in large cities interfacing with minorities and making art while not wearing a bra. (SEE: gentrifier)
It’s true. I am a W.A.S.P. I live in New York City. Minorities constitute the majority of my neighbors— I love my ‘nabes. And yes, I rarely wear a bra while making art. Don’t want to. Don’t need to. Don’t care.
But tits are the tip of the proverbial iceberg. I have accepted my whiteness. Replete with all the uncoolness that comes with it. I can’t dance for shit. I don’t sing very well (anymore, anyway). I’m the ghost-faced shrew who calls 311 and blogs about shit that pisses her off. I might be an asshole —but I am a self-aware one; I have a sense of humor.
CASE IN POINT: South 3rd Street, Williamsburg, September 14, 2008
Dude on the stoop: Oh here she comes! White girl. Skin like snow!
Miss Heather: Yeah, that’s me.
Dude on the stoop (laughing): No, no not you. You’re okay. You’ve got some tan on you.
If there is a purpose to this post it is this: we’re all the same. Judge a person by who they are, not what they look like.
Laugh at yourself occasionally— better yet— OFTEN. It’s healthy. We all had a laugh at South 3rd Street Sunday.
Who knows, I may very well be darker than you!*
Oy Vey!
Miss Heather
P.S.: This post is dedicated to Blognigger.
*But I doubt it.
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