Patricia Dickson: The America that I experience is not racist

The sitch-u-ation isn't this ... black and white. 

Yesterday was interesting. My friends are not racist. Nevertheless, their fairly large parties are purely white. Now, why is that? 

Two came over yesterday to help me get rid of a large aquarium and its cabinet/stand. And bring up a new replacement aquarium and replacement stand. 

They're so adept and they work together so well they made it look easy. Plus they went well beyond that. They pulled out my carpet cleaner machine and hand-scrubbed the area before using it. They did the dishes that were in the sink. They hung out all day, took out my trash, straightened up the place. They stayed busy while waiting for a pizza.

The call box is out of order so two of us went downstairs. A black man parked in front we assumed he was delivering our pizza. It turned out to be my neighbor, Barry, who lives across the hallway. He greeted us in a gracious manner and asked if were were waiting to go inside imagining I didn't have my key. 

Then another black man his age ran up to him and totally invaded his space. A younger muscular man, Dexter, another resident of my building. This man is extremely outgoing and he knows everyone and gets into as many things as possible. He asked me to take pictures for his portfolio. 

Then a black woman, Cynthia, lives down the hall. Tiny, attractive, she likes me because I gave her a few plants upon returning from a nursery. Last week she encountered me on the street returning from a walk at the point where my legs were giving up. I was having a very difficult time walking. The pain was incredible. That particular moment was horrible. It's the point where people decide they need a wheelchair. But having been in a wheelchair, it's the point where I decide I needed to keep walking more everyday. Still, a terrible broken down moment. She didn't have to say anything. I could read the pity on her face. 

Now this moment with my white friend in passing again outside she puts her hand on my shoulder and asks me how I am doing before moving on. 

All this in the span of five minutes waiting outside for the pizza. If he didn't already know differently my friend waiting with me would think the whole building is mostly blacks. 

Second unrelated racial-related anecdote

My two best friend at the Federal Reserve Bank were gorgeous black women who I had lunch with everyday. The whole bank saw us sitting together laughing together regularly. The cafeteria is more attractive than most downtown restaurants. It's a gorgeous place designed to keep employees inside instead of wandering off for lunch. It doesn't always work but that's the plan with subsidized meals.

For the most part, these two women are somewhat unapproachable by other black males. The whole time they couldn't quite figure out how our association happened. Actually, they tolerated me because I imposed myself upon them. What are they going to do, be rude to me? Over time I won them over by my humor and by my irresistible charm. Shut up. Yes, my charm. 

I could happen.

We did things together outside the bank. We did a lot of things together that had nothing to do with work. They introduced me to the black clubs. One giant bouncer wouldn't let pass through until I mentioned their name. Then BAM! Instant access. They found me useful. For example I catered Valerie's wedding in the manner that I catered my own New Year's party and that was a huge thing. That one thing made me famous among all her friends and family and acquaintances. And his. Her new husband whom I had only just met. They told me they hadn't seen anything like it. While it was fairly standard in my own circle.

So there's that.

But one day my mother showed up at my work without notice. 

Ew, just thinking back to it pisses me off all over again. 

She knows better than that. But she does like her surprises.

* Pepé Le Pew voice * It's the little girl in her, no? 

Great surprise. This was a lifelong habit. Abash her kids to the maximum. Especially me. The FRB is not a visitor-friendly place. They can go no further than the lobby. Above the lobby on a mezzanine level that is hidden from sight except at a few strategic points is the entire floor for the in-house guards. They are FRB employees treated entirely separately. They have their own rifle range in the basement. In the lobby there is a large 2-way mirror on this hidden floor that the guards use to look out upon the lobby. The mirror facing out to the lobby is tall as a man, square, gold color with black inscription of the FRB symbol. If you look closely you'll notice two fairly large oval shapes that are not part of the FRB design.

"What are those two ovals for in the mirror?" 

     "Those are gun ports." 

"Oh." 

They have a lot of guns. 

I know this because my job entailed making deliveries of the things departments purchased with my help.

For that reason of moving around products, and for keeping the warehouse that stored supplies, I got around the bank more than the usual employee does. I went everywhere. Places where nobody else goes, or very few specific employees, but nobody goes everywhere like I did. I knew everybody. I had relationships with virtually everyone. Most days I wore suit and tie, or sport coat and tie, other days I wore causal clothes even blue jeans depending on the things I expected to be doing. 

Nobody questioned me. They knew what my deal was. Some of my work was very un-bank-like. And that's the thing about bankers, they chose that line of work to get out of doing anything physical. So when they do encounter people without aversion to physical work, it doesn't quite compute with them. They's see me pushing a pallet with a pile of boxes one day, unloading a truck another day, and entering data into a computer another day, and so on. I could dress however I wished. And nobody else had that freedom. 

I was dressed down. This shocked my mother. "Why aren't you wearing a tie? Why aren't you wearing a suit? Are those the shoes you wear to work? I looked good but she was expecting me to look like a banker. 

"Know who this is?"

I did not recognize the woman. Older woman. Time had been unkind.

Mum scowled for missing the pop-quiz she sprung on me in her very surprise visit. 

I cannot overstate how odd it was for my family to drop in where I work. It's discouraged. There is no parking for them. How did they even get there? 

It turned out to be her younger sister visiting from Pennsylvania. 

My mother liked surprises so that was another surprise. I failed both. The dress test and the pop identity quiz. My own mind is blown. I'm not good at this sort of 'Let's go wreck Chip sort of thing.' The question had to do with personal identity. I hadn't seen any of my relatives in over thirty years. I was nine years old the last time I saw her. How I'm expected to recognize them out of context is beyond me. So, she brought all this disappointment onto herself. 

I did recognize the three children with them. 

They're also surprising my lunch. Since we didn't prepare we must go elsewhere. As we are exiting through the two sets of huge extremely heavy double doors, holding them open for the women and the children, while trying to decide where I will take them, Valerie enters for lunch from the outside. Her office is across the street. In that tight space we pass each other, all the people being herded through.

The next day Valerie calls me aside privately for an important discussion.

"Chip, of all the people I know, you are the most unlikely of all for me to expect shame in introducing me to your mother." 

Goddamnit.

Valerie viewed what happened in terms of racism. 

She thought I didn't want to introduce her to my mother. 

I told her it's actually worse than that. In that moment I wouldn't even be able to remember her name. My mother completely wrecked my thinking, and introductions in the space between doors is not possible. It had absolutely nothing to do with unwillingness to introduce a black person to my family, rather, it was about my mother blowing my mind with the first surprise visit in twenty years of working there. 

Such a prankster. 

What fun wrecking her son. 

As it turned out, both parents met both women after I was put on long term disability. Both parents accompanied me there for paperwork and we three went upstairs to the cafeteria for coffee. During that time people noticed I had dropped in and they wanted to take a moment to say goodbye. One by one, two by two and so on through the afternoon. Word spread I was visiting with my parents. The employees were timing themselves to stop by our table not all at once. That grace meant the world to my parents. The grace each employee showed in saying goodbye to me. They were blowing my parents minds. Both parents each got to see all the people I worked with. This is their first and last impression of all the people I had worked with for over twenty years. They each got to hear how they speak, what they look like, their manners, their dress, their carriage, and it's nothing that matched anything in their experience. The mixed race thing at that higher level of interaction was an entirely new experience for both of them. My friends behaving so kind with so much grace, and their own upscale appearance blew my parents minds. 

Ha. Got her back. They saw the truth of my employment experience. It was nothing at all like their own. And Valerie saw that my parents are actually quite welcoming.