The Racist Bone

I always cringe a bit when I hear someone say “I don’t have a racist bone in my body”. I’m thinking that anyone who has done the deep dive into self analysis on that subject would realize that line is terribly non-convincing as an opener, and just isn’t true. 

A couple of years ago I had a garage sale as I was preparing to sell my house and relocate. Nothing brings out the neighbors like a garage sale. So I anticipated seeing and talking to folks I had relatively few conversations with during the 15 years I had lived there. 

One particular guy, after a few pleasantries just muttered “I sure hope it stays white” while looking at my house. My house was beige, but I knew that’s not what he was referring to. My “glare” filter must not have been working, as I’m sure I shot a loud look his way. Seeing that, his follow up was “oh I’m not prejudice or anything”...as if that would clear him of any suspicion. 

Well...it didn’t. Not in my mind. Unsurprisingly, perhaps, I had my suspicions during the 15 years we had been neighbors, but I had never called him out on anything. I had never heard anything as blatant come out of his mouth as garage sale day though. 

And honestly, I’m not sure what part upset me the most...the “I’m not prejudiced” or the “or anything”. The former was a specific denial. The latter, a broad global denial. And honestly, it all reminded me of the statement “I don’t have a racist bone in my body”.

You know, when I hear people say stuff like that, it’s fairly predictable what follows next. They’ll start listing friends they know or work with, or worse yet TV shows or movies featuring black actors they enjoy. But that doesn’t address the racist bone at all. And I believe the racist bone exists in all of us to some extent. 

If it exists in all of us, that doesn’t mean it exists in us all to the same degree. For instance, we all lie, but some of us to a greater extent than others. And if you balk at the idea that we all lie, consider how honest we are when somebody asks a simple question like “hey...how you doing today”. Are we ever completely truthful in that situation? Probably not, or people would quit asking (...lightbulb comes on...)

Thing is, nobody wants to admit to being a liar...even on the smallest scale. We admire integrity, and want others to count on our word. I get that. But when was the last time you heard someone boast they always tell the truth, and then act indignant if that is ever called into question. Ok...don’t think too hard on that one because someone will pop into mind and likely stir up negative emotions, as it just did with me. 

So, what is the racist bone we all have? And what does it look like to make positive strides to minimize its effect on our thought processes? Don’t we all have to learn and unlearn some things regarding racial issues? I think so. 

First, I think it’s healthy to acknowledge racial awarenesses exist, and we don’t initially fully understand them the first time we’re exposed to them. Consequently, we’re innocently ignorant and perhaps curious. But then we start to learn things ...sometimes things we later need to unlearn. Have we at any time watched the news and waited for the announcement of the race of a person, or a name, or a picture...something to get an idea of who was behind the atrocity just reported? Have we been in an airport and seen people different from us, speaking a different language than us, and perhaps we experience a little uneasiness... at least at first. Maybe after many exposures and experiences those uncertainties lessen over time. And that’s part of the maturing process... our personal individual maturing process. Nobody can learn that or experience that for us. We have to do it ourselves. 

We still have racial issues in our country...clear as can be. Those issues could be next door. Those issues could be inside of me, waiting for me to own them and make real progress. I might have to even change how I think or speak. Or I could just recite that I don’t have a racist bone in my body, and be done with it. But it will surface later. Perhaps at somebody else’s garage sale.

Why I Don’t Trust Most Billionaires

First, let me confess I’ve never met a billionaire, so I have very little to go on, in terms of their nature...absolutely nothing based on personal interaction.  But I have tried to grasp the concept of how much a billion is. I still am not able to fully understand the enormity of that amount.  But what I do understand makes me skeptical of those that are billionaires...because of what I believe about human nature. Billionaires really are in a class beyond my experience and even my imagination, honestly.

The easiest way for me to break down the enormity of a billion is to scale it down to something a bit more understandable. If we’re not careful, we might think a billion is kind of similar to a million...maybe because the words rhyme...and a billion follows a million...so really, how different could they be?  But that is a huge mistake to think of it so simply. However, most of us have at least some concept of how much a million is. So we’ll start there as a reference point. 

Just for fun, or really for context, divide one million by your annual salary. That will tell you how many years you’d have to work to earn a million dollars... not to acquire a million dollars...but just to earn that amount. For reference I’ll use $65,000 as an annual income. A person earning $65,000 annually would need 16 years to earn a million dollars. So, for that person to accumulate a million dollars over a  lifetime, they’d have to do some serious investing, or have other funds available. 

I think most people reading this can identify with a $65,000 annual income, maybe a combined annual income of $130,000. We either remember when we made that amount, or we hope to get there soon, or we know people in that income range. What I’m trying to say is, that’s a fairly reasonable working man’s wage, and identifiable for most of us. Even still...getting to a million is not an easy task. 

Probably the biggest investment most of us makes financially is our home. Again, for the sake of simplicity and an amount I think most of us can identify with, I’ll use a value of $200,000 as an average home value in the US.  We might not be there yet, or maybe it would be a step back for some of us. But again, I believe it’s at least identifiable for most of us. 

So, a couple of numbers for reference points: $65k ($130k if both work), and $200k. 

Now, simply put...a billion is a thousand millions. And that’s a big difference. That means...if it takes us a lifetime to acquire a million dollars, through saving and investing, it would take a thousand of us to get to a billion.

So, to scale things down, let’s pretend a single dollar bill represents a million dollars. Imagine a “million dollar” dollar bill. A billionaire would have a thousand such dollar bills... a thousand of those million dollar dollar bills. You and I? Not even close. That $65k annual income would be 6.5 cents compared to just one of those dollars. That $200k home...20 cents. Many of us work 30 years trying to accomplish home ownership. A drop in the bucket compared to the thousand bills a billionaire holds. 

And if someone has multiple billions then that’s multiple stacks of a thousand one dollar bills. Someone worth 10 billion...10 stacks of a thousand dollar bills. And most of us operate in the realm of 6 or 7 cents per year by comparison. 

I’m not trying to paint a picture of what’s right or what’s wrong...simply what is. 

Of course I love to conjecture when it comes to human nature, especially in regards to human worth. Are we really all equal in God’s eyes? I say yes. Are we all equal in each others’ eyes. I say...most probably not. 

People with the multiple stacks of a thousand dollar bills aren’t going to be very concerned about you as an individual. Unless they have a humanitarian streak in their nature, their interest in us will be but a human capital interest...not so you can get your 6.5 cents...but so they can get another stack of bills. That’s how they got there...by dealing to acquire more, not by being benevolent. Their stakes are higher, and as such, they play by different rules than most of us ever imagine. 

So, I admit, these thoughts go through my mind when I hear discussions on who is essential or who is expendable or even sacrificial. I’m not saying wealth is evil. But I’m suggesting that human nature, much like an appetite, can be bent on acquiring more and more, with less and less regard for the individuals that helped get them there.

So, the first link shows an individual wealth tracker over the last 20 years. I couldn’t look away. I love those trackers. 

And something I tend to trust less than people ...corporations ...especially if corporations receive huge bailouts and still lay-off their employees. The 2nd link shows a value tracker of the world’s most valuable companies.

Wealthiest People in the World Tracker
Most Valuable Companies in the World Tracker

Why I Ate Dumpster Food

I knowingly ate dumpster food 1.5 times. I’m not proud of it. I’m not ashamed of it. It is what it is. So I’ll give the details up front. The first time I knowingly ate dumpster food I was already halfway through the meal before it was revealed to me where the food came from (thus the .5). It was not a prank. There was no hidden camera to capture my response. I was with a family that had a common practice of dumpster diving dining. And I pretty much stumbled into what turned into a two year deal with dumpster food being available and offered to me on a regular basis. 

I know this doesn’t make sense, so let me set the table, so to speak. 

After high school I made what might seem like a rash decision to change my college plans. Instead of studying architecture at a university in my home state, I instead went to a Bible college and prepared to teach math in Christian schools. All I was equipped to do when I finished was teach in Christian schools. I know...kind of limiting in terms of earnings potential...this I know very well now. But then... I was all about serving God, and waiting on Him to provide. You could say I had a lot to learn, and you’d be right. No argument here from me now. Let’s just say I had a lot of lessons crammed into my 20’s on this very subject. 

So...upon graduating college I took a teaching position in an inner city Christian school. The school advertised itself as having a 98% minority population. Turns out, I was the only white person in my classroom every day I taught there. 

If you think public school teachers aren’t paid much, it may not be a surprise that Christian school teachers were paid even less. And in the days I took this position, the school I chose was the lowest paying Christian school in the metro area. I knew this because I was canvassing all the schools for openings. Not surprisingly, my new place of employment started all their teachers with a two year contract...perhaps to make sure they could retain them at least two years. 

So,..as you may conclude..my table was pretty bare from the start. I heard about a retired couple who was renting out space in their home just off Independence Ave not far from downtown KC. They said they offered a discount to people in ministry, so I certainly qualified and arranged for a meeting with my prospective landlords. When that meeting came about, lunch was provided. And that’s the way Mrs Johnston (not their real name) described the food..halfway through the meal. I had learned that her husband was retired and spent his retirement recycling cardboard and using that money to support missionaries. Back in those days one could collect a little cash rummaging and recycling, and I respected that he busied himself and was so generous. I continued to eat while listening to this unique tale. Sure, I noticed the brown outline around some of the salad...the toughness of the meat... some residue on some of the salad dressing bottles...but I didn’t want to complain or come across unappreciative. And keep in mind...this was still during the first half of the meal. I was not yet aware of the whole story. So I just put some of the peculiarities out of mind and continued to listen to how God provided for the missionaries in this way...through Mr Johnston’s dedication to recycling. I found I could only nod in approval...chew, and swallow, sip my iced tea..repeat. . But then Mrs Johnston mentioned that the cardboard was not the only way God provided. She continued by saying that in fact...everything we were having for lunch had been provided in that same way...through Mr Johnston’s dumpster runs...including the whole turkey. 

Gulp. 

Now...I’ve never had my life pass before my eyes, but I’ve heard of others who have. I can say though, that in an instant my entire lunch passed before my very eyes...the brown lettuce..the lids of the jars..the consistency of the turkey...all of it, like a flash. 

I’m guessing I consciously decided to start chewing again. I was only halfway through the meal...and all things considered, I really needed this place to stay. It was my only prospect in an affordable price range. And I was sure I could avoid ever so politely any future offers of free dumpster food. So I cleaned my plate like my momma taught me, and we went on to discuss terms of my living there. There... now you know the .5 part.

Things were pretty simple back then. Rent was more affordable than anything else I’d come across.  I agreed I had to stay in ministry during my stay there, or I’d be asked to leave. Ok. Also, since they had a constant flow of dumpster food they needed all the fridge space they could find. So, the fridge in our apartment would be partially used for dumpster food. We could have any of it that we wanted, we just had to clear it with the landlords first. I agreed to that as well. 

Well...I thought that would be no problem, but it proved to be more difficult than I originally thought. One of the “perks” of working at the school was that I could eat a free school lunch during the week. So, I didn’t have to worry about that meal. But evenings and weekends would sometimes prove to be a little hard on my income. 

So one weekend, I was standing in the kitchen with the freezer door open...eyeballing the frozen dumpster pizza bread...searching for expiration dates, broken packaging, or anything else that might give it away in terms of ...was it ok or not ok to eat. Expiration date...passed. Who are we kidding. All this stuff was expired. Plastic wrap seemed to be intact, but the label appeared to be sun bleached. K...pass on that one. I scrummaged around until I found one with a normal looking label...normal for dumpster food, that is. And took it out of the freezer, heated it up and ate it. I was hungry. And yes...I remembered I was supposed to clear it with the landlords first. I just didn’t want to. I didn’t want to admit to the fact that I was hungry and their dumpster pizza bread looked better than my meager rations that my budget would allow. 

And yes...I heard about it later and was reprimanded and reminded of the agreement. So...that was the other time I knowingly ate dumpster food. 1.5 times in total. Long story. But there you have it. 

Ok wait...that’s more. As thankful as I was for those school lunches they always seemed a little on the small side...portioned for school kids. But I purposed to be polite. Each time I returned my lunch tray to the kitchen workers I would thank them. I just thought that was a good thing to do. Probably a thankless job, I thought. And I wanted to be polite. 

So one day, as was my habit, I was returning my tray to the lunch lady when I noticed Mr Johnston’s truck pulling around behind the  school. I politely asked the gal if she knew if that was Mr Johnston’s truck. She smiled widely and exclaimed..”oh yes, that’s Mr Johnston. He’s the kindest man. He drops off food every week. We wouldn’t be able to have a lunch program without his donations.”

Yes...I continued to eat the free lunches. I don’t know how to do the math on it...so it’s not really 1.5 times. Hard to say what the number turned out to be. And no, I did not tell anyone what I suspected. I guessed they probably knew as much as I did anyway. And yes, I fulfilled my two year contract at the school...and yes... was then asked to leave the Johnston’s apartment. So I did. Pretty much that simple...I moved on to my next chapter ...figure out how to get state certified so I could make the big bucks in the public schools. Hah!!! That story is for another time. 

I Wonder

I wonder how things will change this year; how mindsets might change. 

I wonder who all we’ll acknowledge as essential workers. 

I wonder about our food supply staying safe and available. 

I wonder if some undocumented workers will be considered essential workers. 

I wonder if we’ll look at classes of people, not as potential murderers and rapists, but more so as potentially essential.

I pray about the things I wonder about. 

I wonder if undocumented workers pray too. 

I wonder what they pray about. 

I wonder if some of them might be the answer to our prayers. 

I wonder if pride is our greatest sickness. 

I wonder if humility is the cure. 

I wonder. 

Know Thyself

One of the writing projects I’ve been putting off for well over a year now has to do with the idea of knowing oneself, and how that affects personal relationships. I’d personalize and rephrase an old saying by stating it this way: “the examined life is worth living and sharing with others”.

The timing now seems to be rather fitting. The idea is...we are beings that long for connection, even intimacy on a deep level... knowing and being known by another person. I believe that is at the base of some of our most compelling desires. For some maybe that desire is stronger than for others. But I believe it resides in all of us to some extent. And really, how can we expect someone to know us when we don’t even know ourselves?

Here we find ourselves in isolation. At least I hope those reading this are practicing social distancing. Many of us, if not alone, are in contact with one...maybe two or three other people. Small circles. Ready or not we’ll be in a position to know and be known by our partner or others we’re with. Things will come up. Triggers will trip. Reactions and responses will occur. Questions will be asked. Like, maybe “where did that come from?”. Sometimes “I don’t know” might not cut it. And if we don’t know, how can we expect someone else to know for us? And do we really want someone else diagnosing our behavior without our input?

I don’t know about you, but if my partner is going to be diagnosing me I’d probably rather have some input than just leave them to their own conclusions... if the relationship is important to me, anyway. 

So that’s why I think knowing oneself is important. And, if it hasn’t happened by now, it’s about time. It’s not selfish to know yourself. It’s not self absorption. It’s self knowledge. And it’s actually a gift you can give your loved ones...your intimate one. Really, it’s a gift of yourself. 

Sure, that can sound like a positive, and really, it all is. But sometimes it may start off down a negative path. For instance, let’s say while you’re on a walk with your partner you come upon something sudden or unexpected physically, conversationally, or emotionally ..and it triggers an undesirable behavior. You know it. Your partner knows it. And you’re looking at each other silently asking the same question, “what was that about?”. If you don’t know, you probably won’t ask the question out loud. But your partner might, if it’s important enough. They’ll want to know. Knowing is at the root of intimacy. A healthy relationship involves growing knowledge of each other. 

If you do know what triggered you, you’ll be able to discuss it and move forward if you’re in a safe place emotionally with your partner to do so. If you don’t know, well, no time like the present to do some soul searching. And if you don’t have a safe environment, well, I feel for you. These must be extremely difficult times. 

I believe the concept of self control is rooted in self knowledge. How can you control yourself if you don’t know yourself? Or maybe we overdo it with with control intercessions. Here’s a silly example. For some reason ice cream is fairly safe around me. I like it. I’ll eat it. But I’m pretty controlled with ice cream. Other desserts, not so much. I can wipe out banana bread without warning. But for some reason a carton of ice cream can last. I don’t need to implement a “no desserts” policy. But banana bread might warrant its own set of rules. I know that about myself. So, if there’s banana bread around, I’ll tell my loved ones to take what they want before I devour the rest. Well...that’s if I’m self controlled. If I’m not self controlled they may not even realize banana bread was ever in the house. 

But my point is...self knowledge helps in getting along with others. It also helps when it comes to apologizing..which again, helps in getting along with others. I believe apologies in a long term relationship include some kind of action plan or resolution. Not just an “oops...I did it again...” 

So...let’s say I made some banana bread disappear without alerting others. And I get called on it...again. And I’m asked...”what is with you and banana bread???”.

Well...it could go a number of ways, depending on how important it is to others. And how important others are to me. I could just say that all banana bread in the house is mine, but that’s not likely acceptable. Now if you think this is silly, I can tell on myself some more. I once bought a Costco snack I knew others would want...but I’d also want mostly for myself. So I bought two... One was a “decoy” that I shared openly..the other was my hidden stash. Silly. Conniving. Deceitful. Maybe not so silly. Depends on the issue. 

You know, honesty and open communication about this kind of stuff is not easy, and depending on the issue..can result in really hurtful exchanges. That’s why we need to know ourselves, so we can control ourselves for the benefit of getting along with others. Maybe the solution is to have your own bag of snacks..that nobody else touches. Or maybe it’s open communication about fairness, allowing for others’ preferences to matter equally. And working on it together, even after failures. 

Here’s another thing I’ve learned about myself. If I’ve been triggered by something, I need a cool down period. If I have 20 minutes to cool down on my own, that can potentially save damage done in the heat of the moment. And people close to me not only know that, they honor or respect it. And that is for the benefit of all. And I honor and respect other people’s space in that context as well. You have to if it’s meaningful to you to get along long term. 

Another practicality to knowing yourself is to prevent yourself from being taken advantage of, or even enabled...basically allowing yourself to be controlled by someone else in an unhealthy manner. If you know yourself well enough to know where your weaknesses are, then you are more likely to self coach yourself through manipulative situations. It’s not someone else’s job to control you. Know yourself, and take control of yourself. 

I heard a guest on a talk show recently encourage social distancing, but not emotional distancing. That made me pause. Yes, we’re in close quarters with a very small number of people, but I think we all have learned to be distant at times, even with others nearby...sometimes as a way to protect ourselves. But maybe it’s time to take a risk. Maybe it’s time to be more vulnerable. More trusting. And to make it a safe place for others to be that way as well. And if we’re dealing with isolation alone, learn to get along with yourself. Cut yourself some slack. But also allow yourself to doubt. To question. To explore. To change. To grow. Maybe even to play. Who knows, we may all come out of this better individually and better as a whole. Let’s hope so. 

A Personal Plea for Intentional Kindness

Things you might be better off not hearing:

1. “You should be fine.”
2. “He’s going to really screw him up.”

I have a soft spot in my heart for educators and people in general really, who are involved in the betterment of mental health for young people (counselors, teachers, coaches, youth group leaders, parents...). We’ve come a long way. We have a long way to go. But we have come a long way.

I heard that first line above (you should be fine) upon returning to school after my father’s funeral. The principal stopped me in the hall...to check up on me, I suppose. I can’t conclude that he knew what he was doing, or what I was going through. He concluded by saying “you didn’t really know your dad, so you should be fine”...and with that... walked away. 

I was 11.

I didn’t have the wherewithal to be able to process what was going on in my life. And I certainly did not know how to process those words. The school, as good as it was in so many ways, didn’t have the resources for situations like I had gone through. Even so...that guy failed miserably. He did not belong in education, in my opinion,  and fortunately was replaced before the next school year. 

But there’s a darker side to my story. One that won’t be fully disclosed here, because it can be depressing if dwelt upon. But my primary emotion after my dad’s passing was not grief. It was relief. Yes, he had been mostly absent from my life, but not completely absent. After he passed away there were certain things I would never have to experience again. So, while losing a father is difficult, my situation had its own set of complexities. And I was ill equipped to handle them. 

So, while I won’t go into detail, I will acknowledge the 2nd statement (he’s going to really screw him up) was said by an onlooker after my father did something to me in public as opposed to other private occurrences. It was witnessed by onlookers this time (no..it wasn’t a spanking).  And that’s when I overheard an older gentleman utter those words. After the incident I was sitting... sulking...confused by what I had experienced, only slightly aware of others’ reaction to it. Again..I had no idea how to process the events or the words...and others who could have helped were not readily available to me at the time. That just wasn’t the focus in those days. 

Maybe I can take solace that today I’m somewhere between fine and really screwed up. (Disclaimer...if you know me, you know me saying something like this IS fine...AND perhaps at least partially screwed up. Alright, I have a weird sense of humor, which often helps. What I’m saying is...this is not a call for help. Not a “pity me” statement. I hope it doesn’t come across that way.  I’m not admitting some crisis in progress. This part is just an acknowledgement, a little bit tongue in cheek, that I made it out ok.) But life can be hard at times. And sometimes recovery is a longer journey than we wish...and longer than others might wish for us...and perhaps longer than other’s patience may allow us. 

But most of all, this is a call to be kind, and intentional in our kindness. Kindness goes further than we can imagine. Intentional kindness, even further. 

So yes...we hear talks... we see posts...encouraging us to be kind, because no one knows what others have gone through. This resonates with me because it is part of my story.  I don’t want it to be. I’ve daydreamed of having a different story. And I’m still not comfortable with some of my history. But I can tell you from experience what ill-advised words and actions can do to a young heart. There’s not a quick easy fix. And some of us get a late start before we face those beasts head on. We’re all a work in progress. 

So I respect and support the efforts of those involved in promoting positive mental health, on any level. I’m proud to know, and be friends with so many who are involved in the betterment of others’ mental health...of any age group. If that’s you... thank you. I sincerely mean it.

We’ve all seen the statements: “Kindness is free” or “It doesn’t cost a thing to be kind”. How true. I’m just hoping kindness becomes a little more readily available...in bodily form. We need more of that. 

Thank you for reading. 

The False Narrative Very Few of Us Actually Believe

I saw this clip a couple of years ago where fans had the opportunity to vent their frustrations towards a giant poster of a player they felt betrayed them by signing with another team. The people in the clip said some pretty harsh things about the player...to the poster. But what they didn’t know was he was behind the poster listening to everything ...then came out from behind to greet them.

And greet them he did. And boy were they surprised. And their tone changed immediately.  We could dwell on the hypocrisy ...but what’s the fun of that? Seriously. That doesn’t get us anywhere. What I see is that there’s this false sense of security (bravado) we as humans shield ourselves with when we think we’re protected by either anonymity or distance. Thing is...I don’t believe we truly believe much of what we say when we’re spewing or venting. And most of us, when confronted with the opportunity, find a way to be respectful...because that’s what good humans do. 

So, here’s what I think is more true than the false narrative:

1. We really don’t believe some of the disrespectful things we say about others. 
2. Spewing doesn’t really make us feel better or make the situation better. 
3. We’re nicer than we might let on. 
4. Others spewing disrespectful thoughts about us or our beliefs...might not actually fully believe it...and might actually be nicer to us in person, given the chance. 

Maybe...just maybe..there’s a false narrative that has picked up an energy all it’s own. But it’s more false than true. And... maybe I’m not as bad as someone makes me out to be. And deep down ...maybe they’re not as bad as they seem when they spew. Just maybe.

Jimmy Fallon Robinson Cano vid