I see you.
I was not raised
color blind, rather raised to believe that superficial attributes like skin
pigment, eye color, hair color, height, shape of eyes, length of nose, size of
ears, how many toes one has or any other exterior characteristics said nothing
about the content of one’s character.
And I was raised that everyone, regardless of those exterior features
were worthy of love and respect.
And I see you.
I see that your skin is the color of chestnut and your eyes are hazel
and your thick curls are deep, shade of auburn and your cheeks are
freckled. And with those features I know
that you and I share more than a few
things—we both have more allergies than most of our friends and family, and
possibly some weird ones. I, with my
ginger waves and gray eyes and pale, freckled skin, know that we share
something beyond the superficial—down at the genetic level because all people
with the genes that turn our hair red, any shade, are the result of a genetic
combination that manifests externally and internally. I know you’ve endured a special level of
teasing that red hair inspires. I know
you know what it’s like to be a minority within a minority. So I know that about you and because we share those superficial things, I already have
started to have an affinity for you.
But I don’t know you.
Yet. So I’m listening. I hear you
speak of Jesus or Allah or going to Temple and I begin to understand more about
you.
You mention your age, and I
think to my knowledge of history and what you may or may not be familiar with
having experiences different decades. I
hear your accent and I ask, because I want to know more about you, not to
diminish you or point out your
otherness, where you are from. You say northern California or southern
Texas, or Scotland or Eritrea and I get a better picture of experiences that
might have shaped you and a
perspective that I might learn from. I
ask about family and relationships, because those are often important to people
and what you say adds to
understanding of you and might lead
to more things we might have in common.
But I don’t know you.
Yet. So I’m listening and I’m
watching. I hear you speak at work or see you
at school events with your children or see you at church or on the soccer pitch
coaching my girls or on the dance floor, or at political rallies or at the
airport expertly rerouting me after a cancellation. I read the articles you share, look at the pictures you post, the artists you
like and the comments you make, to
glean some of your perspective and better understand what influences and
motivates you. I appreciate your skills, your efforts, your
hard work, your thankless work, your brilliant work, your charm, your humor, your
style, your smile, and your occasional bouts of crankiness or even fiery temper.
And while I don’t
know everything about you, I am
adding up the things I do know, the things I have seen and building my image of
you as an individual, a uniquely and beautifully and wonderfully made
person. And that is how I see you.
And I continually work on forming that image as I learn more, by
listening and watching and interacting with you, so that I can know you
better. You are who I see.
So I struggle with
generalizations that everyone who has skin like this or is this gender or has
that sexual preference or goes to that church or supports this candidate or
dress in this way or is from this economic class or comes from this
neighborhood or works that kind of job or is originally from that country is
supposed to be or act or think the same. That has never been
my experience with the people I have known, and I have be fortunate enough to
travel broadly and live many places and meet many, many different people.
I see you and I know you are the sum of many things, many experiences and all your own. And I want to know you at that level, so I approach you, not always without some bias, because I’m flawed and shaped by experience too, but with a desire to find our commonalities and what we can both newly perceive or rethink through a better understanding of our sameness and our differences.
I see you and I know you are the sum of many things, many experiences and all your own. And I want to know you at that level, so I approach you, not always without some bias, because I’m flawed and shaped by experience too, but with a desire to find our commonalities and what we can both newly perceive or rethink through a better understanding of our sameness and our differences.
I see you.
