Racial slurs
and hate speech are the most deplorable, inexcusable types of insults anyone
can make. I believe that people who make such statements should be held accountable
for their caustic words. But what happens when, in a Seinfeld-esque
miscommunication, someone is accused of making a racial slur when in fact, they
did not? How do you convince others, while they glare at you, their faces
ridden with offense and astonishment, that they got it all wrong?
What if
you’re seven years old and your friend, someone who was in the same small, 12-student
class with you for the past 2 years, is repeatedly puffing up his cheeks like a
blowfish, crossing his eyes and then, alternately, making high-pitched whooping,
screechy noises at you? He was an energetic boy who liked getting a rise out of
his classmates, and I was especially easy to annoy. So he kept filling his
cheeks with air and screeching at me until I thought I was going to have an
aneurism. Don’t ask me where the teacher was at this point. As you may
remember, grownups were not capable of understanding the complexities of elementary
school drama. It must have been recess though. Anyway, I finally asked this kid
to stop being a monkey and stop annoying me. Big mistake. An argumentative girl
turned around and informed me that it was not only incredibly rude but also
quite racist to tell my friend, who was being monkey, that he was being a
monkey. I thought she clearly didn’t see what he was doing. So I told her. And
he denied the whole thing.
At this
point several other kids were listening to our quarrel, which made me feel even
more defensive. I don’t know what the rest of them had been doing but no one
noticed him making funny faces and incredibly irritating noises just moments
before. The argumentative girl, holding
a pitchfork in one hand and a torch in the other, declared to the rest of the
class that I was bullying that kid because of his brown skin.
Now I know
that some holier-than-thou white people say things like, “I don’t see color” and
claim to have no idea whether someone is of a different race. Uhhh sure,
whatever you say. But you know what? Up until that moment in Mrs. Eckhart’s second
grade classroom, I didn’t have a damn clue that that boy was of a different
race. Seriously. Maybe children see the world differently or maybe I was just
very dumb or unobservant or whatever. But when that girl accused me of being
racist toward him I about passed out from shock. I remember staring at him and shaking
my head, not wanting to question his skin color but having the veil of innocence
ripped from my eyes. And I saw for the first time that he was different than
me.
Despite this
revelation, I stuck to my guns about the monkey thing, and I still will stand
up for myself on that one because, folks, he was legitimately pretending to be
a monkey just to annoy me, ok?? Well I spent the rest of recess all alone because
the other 11 people in the class refused to talk to me. I suppose I should be
impressed that those young children were intolerant of prejudice (or perceived
prejudice in this case) but as a very misunderstood second grader, I just felt
devastated. I remember kicking up the
tiny rocks in the gravel parking lot in frustration. Every time I looked up
from my dusty shoes I’d see eleven tiny humans on the other side of the lot with
their chins up and their eyes narrowed. I just realized that maybe this
experience is why I liked Lord of the
Flies more than anyone I know. Poor
Piggy.
Anyway, my
best friend eventually told me that everyone would be my friend again if I
apologized to the boy. I vehemently protested, explaining for the 100th time
that I was not being rude or derogatory (I’m sure I didn’t use that word) but
was simply telling him to cut it out. And the “it” was his monkey-like
behavior. I couldn't believe how the
whole thing had gotten blown out of proportion. My best friend looked like she
wanted to believe me, but kept glancing over her shoulder at the others with a
distinct look of fear. She didn't want to be exiled like me. “Just say sorry,
ok? It’s not a big deal. Just say it.” She whimpered.
A large piece
of my innocence disintegrated that day. My first approach was to lie like a successful
politician. I approached the mob and
apologized for hurting his feelings. That was not good enough. They insisted I
specifically apologize for calling him a monkey. At this point I had to take my
lying skills a step further so, like a lawyer, I looked in his eyes and said I
didn’t mean to call him a monkey. And the spell was broken. They were all my
friends all of a sudden and the strange event was never mentioned again. I completely
forgot about it until recently, but I have wondered why I feel overly paranoid
about what I say when I’m talking to and especially when I’m joking around with
someone of a different race.
Stay tuned
because in my next post I will tell you another story involving a typical sitcom
miscommunication, an unusual wedding reception, and another lesson about how
people are not monkeys.
Has anything
like this ever happened to you?? Let me know in the Comments section!
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