Intellectually, I know what it is.
But in my heart I have no idea how you hate someone for being different.
From a very young age, people have been racist against me.
Only, my parents didn't explain it that way.
They told me it was because I was different, just not what kind of different.
I was around eight or nine years old when I was finally told what race was.
That the neighborhood kids hated me because I was white.
Before that, color of skin hadn't crossed my mind.
It was like hair color to me. Some are blonde, some are brunette.
Only some of us are lighter, and some of us were a lot more tan colored.
I've tried to understand the thinking behind this many times, but I just don't get it.
To this day, I still have trouble remembering that not everyone is the same.
You have to be careful about what you say, you don't want to step on toes.
It's hard, because I don't actively think about skin tone and race.
It's kind of like knowing some one for a while, and going, "Hey, they're blonde!"
The information is there, it just doesn't register.
I've told people before, that this is how I think, and they don't believe me.
And that is the sad part.
That when someone isn't racist, is when they are strange.
But I guess, that's life.
People were raised a certain way.
But in this debate of nature versus nurture,
I whole heartedly say racism is something we create in ourselves.
If my parents had raised me to dislike people because of the tone of their skin,
I would probably have a hard time seeing things from the eyes of some one
like I am today, to whom race is not even an issue, just a fact about them.
It's as insignificant as to me as if they were on the football team in high school.
But that is all I can say on that for right now.
Good Night, and Good Luck,
Tricia
