What do I know about race???

I know that I am white. Overly so, as has been pointed out to me.

I know that I've never really had to think about race unless I wanted to. I've never been in a situation where I have been the racial minority or in a situation that was overtly about race. Or at least that I perceived was about race.

I know I was old enough to remember when I discovered that black people did not all look alike. I really honestly was so isolated and inexperienced that this was a discovery for me.

Not long after that, on a trip to Chicago when I was seven, I saw a black girl who was about the same age as me. She flipped me off and I was horrified. Now that I look back on the situation I realize that her reaction to me was probably because I was staring at her.

The estranged father of my childhood friend is Native American. Her stepfather used to tell a joke: Why did God make seagulls? To beat the Indians to the dump. (Perhaps, I perceived this situation to be about race at the time. I hope I did. I imagine I did because I've remembered it so clearly.)

Two of my friends were part Chinese, but I don't think this ever really registered for me because, for me, black was different and someone who spoke another language was different but dark hair and slightly different features weren't enough.

I grew up looking for arrowheads with my grandma in the mountains, though it never really crossed my mind that the reason the arrowheads were there and the Indians were not had anything to do with race.

I covered my face in baby powder, painted my lips red and dressed in a robe and a cone shaped hat because we were celebrating the history of my town and my friend and I had been told that there were once Chinese gardens and, thus, Chinese residents. (What adult let us do this??? This just keeps getting more and more embarrassing.)

I was awakened to my learned prejudices when I began reading minority literatures. I suddenly became more aware of and changed how I perceived the world. The stories of minority literatures changed my story. What my sphere lacked was provided, at least in part, by literature.

Minority literatures opened up worlds of human experience to me that I could never have had any access to. Each story brought me to a different world, wholly unlike my own. More importantly, despite the differences between the worlds I read about and my own I could always relate to something. The "other" was no longer so different from me.

I have no doubt that minority literatures are important to me, to other white students, to students of other ethnicities and nationalities, to everyone, for the simple reason that we find where our lives meet with all others through the stories that are told.

And here's where we run into our little problem.

Though I've enjoyed and been moved by minority literatures do I, firmly part of the majority, have a right to claim a place in them? Can I help move that "other" into being a part of an overarching human existence? Do I have any business studying or teaching minority literatures or does my race and position exclude me from understanding?  Can I help or am I, by default, the problem?

I hope not.

I don't want to be powerless. I don't want my best effort to be inadequate but what I can do is limited and ill-defined. I can only strive to do my best. And right now my best means thinking about this subject quite a bit more.

Huh. I have a blog.

This could be useful.

Sadly Neglected Blog Receives Attention/Naomi Wolf Response

Last night I finished reading Naomi Wolf's book Misconceptions. It's a highly feminist tome that looks at the process of pregnancy, giving birth and motherhood through the eyes of the privileged, highly educated, feminist-minded Wolf.

There are a number of points made by Wolf that I heartily agree with. I believe that the medical community unfairly disregards the value of midwifes and doulas. I believe that the American way of birth has been constrained by making medical practices such as epidurals, epesiotomies and c-sections standard practices. I do believe that it would behoove employers to offer more flexible schedules and benefits to parents, both moms and dads. I think she's very right to try to shed light on these inequities, however, I found myself annoyed that she kept returning to the theme of losing oneself to motherhood.

She continually voiced her fear of losing herself, which I suppose is only natural for someone who seems to think she is such an island of womanly independence. Wolf expresses anger that she is forced now to rush from her office to home in order to feed the baby who is being watched over by a "caregiver". This baffled me. I truly believe that this is a fear that is generated by a generation of privileged women who put far too much emphasis on individuality. When you become a mother you do not lose yourself... you gain another facet. It's true that you are unable to devote as much time to the things that once defined you, in Wolf's case writing, but those parts of you do not melt away into nothingness- they inform the way you live, the way you mother.

Another difficulty I had with the book was her view that the women she knew were in inequitable relationships with the husbands having more power. These women wanted their husbands to do more work around the house and felt overwhelmed attempting to care for one or two children all by themselves... with the help of a "caregiver". This shocked me. I couldn't help thinking of the multitudes of mothers who have cared for more children with less help and support from partners. I'm not saying that these peers of Wolf didn't deserve or need more help from their partners, but I think that they were in far better positions and actually had the power to change the way things were. There are many women even today who really have no power in their relationships and the women Wolf spoke of were not them.

Try, try, try again.

So.... I'm a little lazy witht the blogging for the past ten months or so. So what?

I just need a few goals.

And I'll get back to you on that.

Maybe.

My Unintentional Hiatus From Writing Has Been Put On Hold (at least temporarily)

Well, what can I say?

RECENTLY READ BOOKS

The Nanny Diaries: A fun read that made me a little afraid of the rich and feel very sorry for their children. This book answers the question 'how selfish can you get if you have almost everything?'.

American Gods: A fascinating story that places the gods of world myth in America and gives them a battle to fight. Although you might be a little surprised to find out the cause and meaning of the battle. I really like the way Neil Gaiman writes. He finds all those dark corners of his imagination that you don't really want to see, illuminates them, and pulls you by the elbow until you're just a little bit closer than you feel comfortable being. Brilliance.

First Indian On The Moon: Ah, Sherman Alexie. I'm about as white as a girl can get, yet this Indian's poetry speaks to me. It makes me want to write poetry again. I haven't done that in a long time. Maybe I'll start right now.

For Mike On Saturday

This wonderful morning,
I heard the toaster oven ding,
and smelled the gentle scent of waffles,
wafting through the air.

They're just frozen waffles,
that were on sale for a dollar,
but you know it's the thought that counts,
and the raspberry sauce on top.

Come Live with Me

Instead of eating breakfast this morning I watched a romantic, old movie. Come Live with Me was made in 1941 and stars James Stewart and Hedy Lamarr. (The Turner Classic Movies channel is playing Hedy Lamarr films in honor of it being her birthday today.)

Lamarr plays an immigrant whose temporary visa has expired and must either leave the country or marry an American citizen. Fortunately she finds Stewart. Stewart is a down-on-his-luck writer who's just lost his last dime. She quickly convinces him to marry her in exchange for just enough money for him to live on each week. He immediately sits down to write this story that is stranger than fiction... though he's not sure how to end it since she just visits once a week to drop off a check and doesn't seem the slightest bit interested in actually loving this man she's married. He is urged by the milk man to make the character get off his butt, or as he puts it "...get some pants", and get the girl because the story needs a happy ending. Stewart's character sends out the first couple chapters of his book to publishers, one of whom recognizes the story because he is Lamarr's older, rich, married boyfriend who is about to ask his wife for a divorce so he can marry Lamarr's character. The publisher's wife loves the story instantly and insists that he give Stewart an advance. Stewart uses the advance to whisk Lamarr off to the country to visit his wise grandmother. In the end Stewart recites some poetry to Lamarr and she falls for him and decides to staty with the writer in the country rather than go to a life of luxury with the publisher.

Moral of the story: pretty words always get the girl. It doesn't matter what you look like or how much money you make, if you write or recite poetry the girl is yours. (I believe Sherman Alexie said something to that effect when I saw him speak.)

Just beware of those other literate men.

Now, classic films are really no substitute for breakfast, so I am going to go get a bowl of cereal.

Musical Trickster

If I remember correctly there was a musical artist, about ten years ago, by the name of Chris Gaines who suddenly appeared out of the woodwork and with great fanfare. He appeared on Saturday Night Live and was rumored to be starring in a movie. After a very short while of everyone questioning 'ooooh, who's this new pop star?' it was revealed that he was actually a well known country music star of the time- Garth Brooks. He'd slapped on a long-ish wig, struck some moody poses in a photo shoot and put an album out under his psuedonym. The life and popularity of Chris Gaines turned out to be very short-lived, but also put Garth Brooks very much in the spotlight for that time. I'm willing to bet that the stunt was at least a little beneficial to his career.