Racist people don’t like being called racist. It’s odd. But then, so is racism. It should be called out every time it happens. I’m a minority, and an often stereotyped one at that, so experiencing racism isn’t something new to me. I’ve been called a nigger. To my face and behind my back. I’ve been warned not to speak up about certain things to avoid being coined an angry black woman but watched as non-minority women who’ve spoken up or flipped out about different things get support and sympathy when vocalizing their frustrations. I’ve endured race jokes from non-minorities and said nothing. I’ve been iced out, ignored, and given the silent treatment whenever I’ve tried to bring innovative and creative ideas into meetings and settings where I was the only black person at the table. I’ve been dismissed and deemed unqualified for different opportunities I worked hard for and just knew I’d be great for, and watched people less educated and unqualified not only get some of those opportunities handed to them, but in some cases get promoted at record heights because the person in charge wasn’t on board with diversity -- one of my mentors (who’s a very successful, highly decorated, and educated black woman) told me this is something that happens a lot. But it still doesn’t cushion the blow. I’ve been called touchy and fragile and exaggerated and told not to take things too personally whenever I’ve spoken up about this kind of behavior when it’s happened. These kinds of things have happened to me, people I love, people I’ve worked with, peers I went to school with, and even people I’ve known from the tiniest of threads. Some people endure it better than others but as long as I live, I’ll never get why some people are hateful towards others just because they’re from another race or have a different skin color or speak a different language. No matter how many of us look different on the outside, we all have a lot more in common than we might realize. I believe most racists are fearful and often threatened by anyone or anything that they’re unfamiliar with. I’m from Virginia so seeing this kind of behavior in grocery stores, college campuses, churches, job interviews, restaurants, shopping malls, and more isn’t uncommon. Things have gotten even worse with more and more closet racists being bold and open with their hatred and feeling justified with their views. I believe closet racists are the most dangerous types because on the surface they might appear to be cool with everyone. They often hide their prejudices until… they don’t. More often than not, it only takes one bad encounter, one stupid comment that went too far, one insensitive joke, one social media post (or several), and then you'll see their true colors. People will always reveal themselves if you pay attention. We all have a right to feel how we want about a particular issue or subject, but political preferences and prejudices aside, why is racism still an issue? If you are a racist and defensive and combative when someone calls you out, why are you so upset? Especially if it’s true. You can always change. Lay down your institutionalized thinking and fears and weapons. Rethink your views and ask yourself if you’re really justified in being hateful towards another human being who God created just as He created you. I’ve tried to understand what goes on in the mind of racist people I’ve met or encountered and often see that their behavior was taught and learned, and often, most racists I’ve encountered have been too afraid to even think for themselves. That’s what institutionalized racism does. It brainwashes people to the point where they don’t think for themselves. And that’s scary. If you are a racist, change your mind. You don’t have to remain a horrible person. Spread love. Not hate. It’s not too late to do the right thing.
About a year ago, I had a dream my dad wanted to talk to our family about something serious. I wasn’t sure what he wanted to discuss, but I knew it was something I needed to prepare myself for. Around the time after I had this dream, I remember stopping by my parents place and sensing something was going on that they weren’t telling me. I tried to dismiss what I’d been feeling, but I couldn’t shake it. Something serious was happening. As I returned to my home after visiting them one day, I was in my kitchen washing dishes when a heaviness hit my heart like nothing I’d ever felt before. Something’s wrong with dad. That’s what that dream was about. God, what’s going on? As I continued washing dishes, I started crying and praying. Then in mid-spring, my dad held an unexpected family meeting that would change all our lives forever. He hesitated at first, and as his voice started cracking and he started crying, he said, “Well, I wanted to talk to ya’ll to tell you that I have kidney disea...