On isms.
Over here, James B is talking about race and political correctness.
he’s had a series of posts, in fact, and you should read them all. Because he makes a lot of sense- the inability of people to say things like “the black guy over there” because that would be construed as “racist” is just fucking stupid.
Here’s a fun little fact: Anyone who says “some of my best friends are black” ought to be shot right in the face with a squirt gun filled with juice squeezed from the underwear of fat venetian blind salesmen.
You know what? i got no black friends. I just have friends. I have a lot of people I know who are black, and some people I occasionally correspond with-or blog with, like James, or Baldilocks, are black, but I don’t think of them as black people. I think of them as people. Likewise, I work with people of all race and religion and preference, and frankly, I don’t give two hoots in hell.
I tend to take everyone at face value, and let them earn my respect or disdain on their own merits. The exceptions are these: If you act like an ass around women, or act like your shit doesn’t stink, you begin by earning my disrespect and you’ll have to dig hard to get out of that hole. If you are an overt or covert racist, same thing.
I can’t imagine disliking someone because of their color, creed, or normal sexual preference. By normal, I mean one of the basic seven: Hetero male, hetero female, bi male, bi female, gay male, gay female, asexual. Kids and animals- well, don’t let me find out, if you do that crap.
The idea that I should curb my behavior because someone might be offended if i say “gay” or “black” or “Chinese” or whatever… like James B says, Bite Me.
I had a big shock, which turned into pleasant self-realization back in the mid-90s.
My first wife and I bought a house in Virginia Beach, VA, in a largely military neighborhood. I talked on the phone regularly with Dad back then, and regularly told him about how great a neighborhood it was, and described all my great neighbors in great detail.
Dad got to know my next-door neighbor, Lamont Price, by proxy – GREAT, and I do mean GREAT WITH CAPS guy. Retired Marine Gunny Sergeant, excellent neighbor, wonderful wife, friendly, etc etc etc… I hope to have a neighbor like that again some day; I fear that might have been a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Dad came out to visit us after we’d lived there about two years, and immediately met Lamont. We all spent the afternoon in Lamont’s garage, plenty of beer was consumed, and a good time was had by all.
That evening, back in my house, over a couple of last beers, Dad commented, “Aaron, do you realize that in two years, you never told me Lamont is black?”
I thought for a minute, realized the truth, and told Dad, “I guess when I talked to you about him, who he was mattered more than his skin color”.
Dad said, “After meeting the man today, and listening to you talk about him so often, you’re right”.
“Why am I going to hate someone based solely on the color of their skin when if I get to know them I can find 1,000 other reasons to think they’re an asshole?” – George Carlin
I was once in a conversation where the topic drifted around to some of the details of the history of Nigeria. I explained how a lot of Nigeria’s problems derive from a colonial legacy of grouping together three major tribes and a bunch of lesser ones, all of which have about as much in common historically, linguistically, and culturally as The Basques and the Japanese.
As a result I was asked, most respectfully, if I was a specialist in Black / African history.
My response?
“No, just HISTORY. All there is, is HISTORY.”
The only people who seem to mind color are two fold. One, the people who look, pray, and hope to be insulted.
Two, the terminally and irreversibly politically correct.
You know… morons.
Hell, some of my worst enemies are black.
Hell, some of my inlaws are black.
Um… there IS a difference, by-the-bye.
M
Mark, some of your non-black inlaws look more black than some stone black people I know, and that’s intended as a compliment. Dick, that’s the funniest damned thing I’ve heard all week. Thanks.
Well, you saw the grand-daughters on my camera on Sunday. I find it a bit odious that they’re automatically black and never white. Somehow… it just rankles, though I’m not sure why.
M
Og, great post. Thoughtful and logical, as always.
Aaron, very cool story. It’s nice not to notice those characteristics that don’t matter. BTW, I grew up in Virginia Beach. My dad was Navy – 23 years.
Bob G. I’m putting that quote in a frame and hanging it above my desk…if I can get away with it.