The undercurrent of prejudice

Growing up in New York state, I seldom saw a person of color, but my Lebanese family probably qualified as the official immigrants in the city. We were darker skinned than people with last names like Anderson and Clark.

            We did our best to fit in – we loved potato salad and fried chicken, but we ate food our “American” friends couldn’t pronounce – kibbee, tabooley and fataya.

Our grandparents spoke Arabic to each other instead of English, even though the first order of business my grandfather performed at his store each and every morning was to post the American flag.

            When my family moved to Louisiana, I was in middle school and definitely the outsider. Trying to fit into the established culture of Louisiana in the late 1960s wasn’t easy.

            I spoke with a pronounced Northern accent and, worse than any other social mistake, I was a “Yankee.” The prejudice toward people different than those who grew up in that town was subtle but it was there.

It was in the way elderly people of color deferred to the white people. It was in the way older whites spoke to people of color, the superior tone in their voices conveying a flawed belief that they were better because of the lightness of their skin.

            In the aisles of the Winn Dixie, I heard quiet talk of the Ku Klux Klan, and whispers of Klan meetings in our Louisiana town.

            But I came to see black people differently through a classmate, Gerald. He was smart, funny and had a constant smile. He was the first friend I had who was not white, and he made me see that just because people are a different color on the outside doesn’t mean we’re different on the inside.

            But he still couldn’t come to our houses, nor we to his, and that wall was one we didn’t think we could ever tear down because prejudice was part of the Southern fabric of life in those days.

Not only that, but people were scared. No one wanted a cross burned in their yard, and there were whispered stories of families who’d had that happen because they were supportive of civil rights.

The Confederate flag was flown openly and proudly and no one questioned why we flew the flag of slavery and prejudice at the same level as the American flag that stood for equality and freedom.

            That’s because the Confederate flag – like offensive bumper stickers and racist and homosexual jokes at parties – are seen and heard so often that society becomes desensitized to just how hurtful and damaging those signs are.

            But the time for overlooking is over. The heart-breaking and horrible hate crime that took place in Charleston S.C. is a wake-up call to the undercurrents of prejudice in this country.

A despicable white man sat down in a historic African-American church and listened to members talk about the word of God for over an hour.

            Then he pulled out a gun and killed them, face to face, in cold blood.

            The word “monster” doesn’t come close. Evil, twisted and doomed to hell are more appropriate. He won’t get the “mentally ill” or “terrorist” pass from me. I won’t repeat his name because to do so would give him even more publicity.

            The names I will repeat, with respect, sadness and sorrow are those who lost their lives that day:  Depayne Middleton Doctor, Cynthia Hurd, Susie Jackson, Ethel Lance, the Rev. Clementa Pinckney, Tywanza Sanders, the Rev. Dr. Daniel Simmons Sr., Sharonda Coleman-Singleton and Myra Thompson.

            We can help them rest in peace by no longer ignoring subtle prejudices. Take down those Confederate flags, and scrape them off truck windows.

Stop judging a person by the color of their skin. Don’t listen to the racial jokes or look the other way when you see injustice. Stop excusing cruel behavior because they’re “good ole boys.”

            And remember what Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said:  “The ultimate tragedy is not the oppression and cruelty of the bad people, but the silence over that by the good people.”

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

The woes of waxing and looking like your Uncle Eli

        There’s two family reunions this summer, and my to-do list for the first one is pretty short – print my boarding pass, load up books for my Kindle and get my face waxed.

            My heritage is half Lebanese and half Cajun. Although I’m not sure what side passed on the abundant hair gene, I do know that for all of my life, I’ve dealt with hairy arms, hairy legs and a hairy face.

When I was a teenager, my older cousin, Sylvia, took me under her wing.

            She showed me a green and white box, “Jolen Crème Bleach,” and told me the paste inside would hide my moustache. The directions said the crème would turn dark hair into soft light hair.

Since I had more hair on my upper lip than my Uncle Eli, I took her advice and used the bleach.

            To my inexperienced eyes, the hair disappeared. What I’m sure it looked like was this clueless  dark-skinned girl with dark hair walking around with a blonde moustache, fooling no one.

            When I was in my 20’s, I was having a free facial. The lady told me two things – I should have two eyebrows, not one, and electrolysis was the solution for the hair on my lip.

            Talk about a double burn. It’s not enough that I walked around with a hairy lip, now I had to contend with my uni-brow.

My Lebanese/Cajun eyebrow went from one side of my face to the other side. That woman told me to buy a good pair of tweezers and start plucking.

I took her advice to heart and got after that uni-brow. So much, in fact, that my eyebrows would have to cross the width of the Mississippi River to touch again.

            But tweezing and electrolysis hurts. So when my pain threshold and checkbook both started screaming in pain, I told myself to live with the hair.

I became adept at talking with my finger over my upper lip and I learned how to position my hand in just the right way under my nose so people thought I was deep in thought, not trying to hide something.

            Then a friend suggested waxing. It was much cheaper than electrolysis, she said, and not as expensive. All I had to lose was some hair, so I went with my sister and sisters-in-law to a salon.

Here’s the conversation from that visit:

            “I’d like to get my upper lip waxed, please.”

            The lady looks closer.

            “Oh, you need your brows done too,” she says.

            So when I get in the room, she takes out a magnifying glass and says I need my chin, the sides of my face, my eyebrows and along the hairline all waxed.

            In other words, the whole face.

            To the non-informed, waxing consists of going into a softly lit room with gentle music playing. Then a quiet woman with tiny hands comes into the room and assures you everything will be okay.

            She takes a wooden stick and dips it in a pot. She tells you the mixture will be warm on your face, which it is, and you begin to relax. Then this nice woman puts a piece of cotton gauze over the warm wax and gently rubs it over the wax.

The tender woman instantly mutates into Magilla Gorilla who, with one mighty tug, rips the wax and gauze off your face along with every hair follicle in its way.

            You want to dunk your head in a bucket of ice water to stop the stinging. But then Magilla’s applying that nice warm wax to another hairy spot and you realize the truth – your hair, your problem.

            So at the family reunions this summer, I know how to figure out who’s related to me.

            The girls who look like my Uncle Eli.  

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

No advice for Class of 2015, just a few suggestions...

          Parents are biting their knuckles as they watch their sons and daughters packing for a new life in a dormitory or apartment.

The kids think they have life all figured out.

Mom and Dad know differently.

            The Internet is filled with graduate advice and life lessons, and family members feel it’s their duty to make sure they impart the wisdom they’ve learned over the years.

But teenagers ignore any speech that starts with “let me give you a little advice” because they know everything. Let’s be honest – they do know everything because what they don’t have in their heads, they can find on their phone.

            Suggestions and bits of folksy advice don’t work. So, Class of 2015, here’s some “get ‘er done” words:

            Don’t look like an idiot. Your phone’s pretty smart, but there are some things you need to know to impress those over the age of 35. Why? Unless you’re working at a fast-food joint, those are the people signing your paycheck.

You should know the names of the Beatles. They’re John, George, Ringo and Paul. Chuck Berry was the first true rock-and-roll legend, even though Elvis is the king.

            Nobody can replace Marilyn Monroe when it comes to sex appeal, James Brown is the godfather of soul and Karen Carpenter had the voice of an angel. If you don’t know who these artists were, fire up Google. And commit that to memory.

            Learn some manners. Chew with your mouth closed, open the door for others, hold your fork like an eating utensil, not a shovel, and put your dirty clothes in the hamper. Don’t drop them on the floor like a snake shedding its skin.

            Thank others on a regular basis. This order comes courtesy of Terry High Football Coach Tim Teykl. People like to be acknowledged for what they do, and they are seldom recognized. Be the one that rights that oversight. But not through a text. Show some class – write them a note.

            Quit driving like a maniac. Obey the speed limits. Quit changing lanes like you’re playing hop-scotch. Use the signals more than your horn. Don’t tailgate and keep at least a half tank of gas in your vehicle at all times. You never know when an emergency’s coming up.

            Stop texting and driving. The most important direct order you’ll ever get because the life you save may be yours or your mother’s or your sister’s. No life is worth driving 80 miles per hour because you want to show off or get there faster.

            Be nice to people. This is basic kindergarten advice, graduates. Not only is being nice the right thing to do, but you never know when that person you told off is going to be your boss. Vent to your dog. He’ll never repeat what you said and he’s much more forgiving than people.

            Save your money. It’s so tempting to get the latest phone upgrade, order more movies from NetFlix or buy those new shoes. Quit buying fad items and put that money in a sock in your drawer until you regain your senses.

            Find something good in every person you meet. Most people have good inside them. Look until you find it. But know when to stop wasting your time because it’s most people, not all people.

            And there you have it, Class of 2015, some suggestions for life.  Don’t thank me – I’m simply telling you the same thing your parents and grandparents have been telling you all your life.

So do what they say. You’ll be glad you did.

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.