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assignment 6
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"Afraid to Ask"


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(A black woman walks into the restaurant where I work and approaches the cash register to order)

“A club to go,” she says.
“Seven dollars please,” I reply in a tone I’m hoping she didn’t find harsh.

(She searches her purse for at least three minutes)
(I stand there starring at this woman thinking a billion things as I had just finished reading “Moms” and started wondering what I was going to write about tonight)

Why am I starring? Should I not stare? What if you were white… would I stare? Do I? Why am I so paranoid? Afraid to offend you suppose…I always seem so afraid to offend people who aren’t white. I think about how many times you’ve experienced racism, and I want nothing more than to be the opposite. But maybe by acting so damn awkward I am being offensive to you anyway. Maybe you’ll think it’s because you’re black. Shit. Well, if it’s any consolation I always think people who look at me are thinking “is that a boy or a girl?” They’re probably not. I’m probably just paranoid. Afraid to offend I guess. You know what I mean? I guess you do… walking around thinking “are people looking at me right now cause I’m black?”… Maybe our differences aren’t so different. I want to ask you if you feel marginalized everyday. I want to know if you’ve gotten used to it. Do you think it’ll get better for me too? What am I thinking? There you go again Davin, thinking just because someone is marginalized that they have it the same as you. Dumbass. Experiencing racism is completely different. I want to know though. I want to be able to empathize. Dammit Davin. There it is again. I want to tell you I know what it’s like even though I don’t know what it’s like. I’m not another awkward white man, intimidated; scared I might say something wrong. I wish you knew me. I wish I could say I know what it’s like to walk home after being harassed for being different. I’ve felt the sneers, the spit, the fists. No, Davin it’s different. The fists feel different. Shut up. I want to tell you I know the fists, maybe not the same fists, but they all sting, right?
I’m standing there, to you, another awkward white man.
I want so badly to tell you that when I was three my best friend was a black girl. I didn’t seem to notice then, that she was black, and I was white. We wore similar dresses and liked to dance. Her name was Marie; she had her hair braided like you. I wonder where she is now. I wonder if you are Marie.

(She hands me the seven dollars… no tip.)

I say, “Have a great night.”
She looks up, half smiles, puts her purse on her shoulder and walks out.
Dammit Davin.
davinsokup (Davin) 05401, January 11
Davin, we internalize everything and you really conveyed the churn that can result well in this piece. You are empathetic because of what you face everyday, yet, identity struggles have unique qualities to each identity. Sometimes we feel completely impotent to relate well and the more we explore the more we realize we don't know. We are offended by some and certainly don't want to impact in that same manner, regardless of our intent. In a course I took fall 2006, when it came time to deal with race, I got a major case of writer's block and caught myself wielding white privelege. I struggle with this stuff and worry a lot about it, also. You should find Marie! Thanks for sharing.
dhard1 (Dana Hard) Essex Junction, VT, VT, January 11
Your story reflects the internal conflict that I think a lot of people have. One thing that I try to remember is that its not my fault that we experience this conflict. I think it would be troublesome in this society, this country if we didn't. The reality is racism is still a prevalent yet maybe subverted part of our society and as long as we make the fight internally as well as externally we are making positive progress. It when we accept assumptions and encourage racism that we are failing ourselves and society.
jsb636 (JSB636) 05401, January 11

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