White and Black Experience

I hesitated posting this particular piece of writing in fear of people misunderstanding me and taking offense. However, to me… this is worth it-whatever ensues.

In order to obtain my nursing degree there is a required community health rotation. These clinicals take place at homeless shelters, addiction rehab centers, inner city medical clinics and even inside a small RV providing care to the homeless in a parking lot.

Today I was slated to venture to another inner city clinic in downtown Indianapolis. The previous two clinical assignments before this one were incredibly different from one another and so I tried to expect the unexpected for today’s assignment as well. The unexpected is exactly what I encountered.

After arriving and speaking to the site manager I was paired with the lab technician, Renee*. Upon entering her space I could almost see on her face the disgruntled feelings of having to take on a student. She told me where I could post up for the day and what her general duties entailed. The first hour or so in a new clinical setting is always a little awkward. As the student, you have intruded on someone’s personal space and generally speaking, screwed up their workday groove. Initially, she and I engaged in the niceties of personal introductions, medical titles and future occupational desires.

When the first patient came in to have their blood drawn she immediately (and quietly) asked if I was interested in trying. Of course I agreed as I operate under the “the more practice, the better” mantra. While obtaining the blood sample the older gentleman patient made some ….ahem… “interesting” remarks to me. Renee and I looked at one another and did our best to contain our laughter and remain professional. After the patient left the lab and was safely in the lobby, Renee and I exploded into laughter -Phew- the ice had been broken between the two of us and a day-long inside joke had been created.

As the day went on we continued to laugh about a great many things. We talked about and demonstrated how we walked in heels during the first five minutes after putting them on as well as how we looked after wearing them for the remaining 4 hours of the night…one word-raggedy. She told me about her siblings and nieces/nephews. I showed her pictures of my three adorable savages. Because we were semi-isolated in the lab, the environment was ripe for conversation in the interim between patients.

I recounted to her the experience I had the day before at a different clinic… In the middle of the day I needed to go out to my car to get some chapstick (’cause my lips hurt real bad’). Being the extremely warm-blooded ice queen that I am I went out in the 30 degree weather without so much as a coat or even jacket, just my scrubs. As I passed through the lobby a guy said to the relative/friend next to him, “Dante, see I done told ’bout dem crazay white folk goin outside wit no coats on”. I glanced in their direction and replied, “Sho nuff” and smiled kindly, instigating looks of complete disbelief from my onlookers.

Right after I finished the story I became extremely nervous. You see, Renee is a black woman…and after doing my best ebonics impression I was unsure as to what her reaction would be. She had only known me for a few hours and did not know  that there truly is not a racist bone in my body. Did she think I was being insensitive? trying too hard? out of line? A myriad of thoughts were racing through my mind as I looked up to see her face. She began wheeze-laughing… you know the kind… where you can’t hardly get an adequate breath between laughing fits and are reduced to wheezing… After catching her breath she commented, “You do that pretty well”. I almost melted onto the floor from sheer relief I had not offended her. I replied that I grew up in Cincinnati, love black stand-up comedy and channel my inner “Madea” as often as acceptable. She remarked that she had noticed earlier that I seemed exceedingly comfortable in the clinic despite being entirely surrounded by a black staff-from doctors to receptionists. I responded that is was probably because I WAS comfortable.

I told her of my affinity for cultures different from my own. She became unnervingly quiet for a moment, deep in thought. When she looked back in my direction, she asked if it would be alright if she demonstrated her best stereotypical-white girl impression. Ummm… of COURSE! She proceeded to walk back and forth across the lab floor speaking in an excessively over-articulated manner about pumpkin spice lattes,  pinterest postings, her wine affinity and her most recent trip to Target for black yoga pants, punctuated by occasional “OMG(s)”.

I LOVED EVERY MINUTE OF IT!!!!

After her remarkable performance she excitedly said,”ok, ok. Now you… you do your best impression…if you want”. The stage was set and I was more than ready. I utilized a few extraneous and exaggerated eye rolls and arm gestures talking about grape drank and fried chicken while tapping my weave and saying, “O Lort, dis weave right hurre is a furreal mess”. Her wheeze-laughter could only be interrupted by a patient coming in for a urine dip.

The rest of the day proceeded as normal, performing blood draws, urine testing and the like. However, we laughed with one another throughout the afternoon, talking about different white and black stereotypes; which ones are accurate and which ones “need to go”. Renee, her niece, who also worked at the clinic, and I all went to pick up lunch at Shrimp Hut. Upon returning, they asked how much my meal was because it seemed higher than what they paid for the same meal. I told them the price and they looked at me quizzically. I quickly told them I also purchased a drink, which accounted for the higher cost. Her neice smiled and said, “Dang gurl, I thought maybe it was cause you white”. She quickly looked at her aunt, nervously. I lightly slammed my fist on the table and said, “I knew it!” When Renee and I began to laugh, she joined in.

At this point (or maybe far before this) you have begun to wonder my intention in writing this post. You may assume it is to present the typical “people are people, there are no differences between us” spiel. But I don’t think that is entirely true. There ARE certain cultural differences that become apparent when comparing black and white people, differences I have always celebrated and enjoyed. There is an increased amount of tension as of late in regards to racial relations.  But I remember in high school and in college when my black girlfriends and I would openly cut up with one another without the lingering fear of saying “the wrong thing”. We knew each other’s hearts and accepted one another as “sisters from another mister”. I never pretended to act as if our friendship somehow allowed me to  truly know what it was like to be black.

I never will.

I’ll never forget Taneka showing me how to properly itch my scalp via soft tapping as to not mess up my ponytail. I’ll always remember my fourth grade birthday party when Kristian displayed her superior dance moves in our dance-off and admiring just how beautiful she was. I can still see Cinnamon and I in gym class loosing our minds when her weave randomly came off during a basketball game, causing me to throw my cheerleading curly hair piece to the floor as well, confirming our solidarity and ridiculousness. I remember Ireka and Chonda trying to teach my roommates and I various dance moves (it was a struggle) and introducing us to the glorious world of Tyler Perry.

I miss those days.

But today I began thinking about how incredibly thankful I am for the strong, intelligent, beautiful black women that have befriended me throughout my lifetime. I’m thankful they chose to see beyond my stereotypical white girl facade, let me be me and encouraged questions about black culture that I was curious about and in return asking me “Why do white girls always be……(fill in the blank)?”

Today was reminiscent of those days. So my dear Renee, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for reminding me those days are still possible in this crazy world and I look forward to potentially working with you some day and laughing til we almost pee…again.

 

*names have been changed to protect personal privacy

Photo Credit: atlantablackstar.com

 

 

R-E-S-P-E-C-T…. Find Out What it Means to…Him

I consider myself to be an expert in very few things in life. If you want to know all the ins and outs of being a stellar parent, you better look elsewhere. If you want all of your questions answered about the complexities of God, I would try my darndest, but would not come close to covering everything. If you approached me with inquiries on how to maintain a clean household while it is inhabited by toddlers… uh-uhn

However, if you find yourself wanting to discuss Oreos and the correct cookie-to-milk ratio, step right up and prepared to be amazed.

Luckily, you don’t have to be an expert in anything to start a blog (I mean, the evidence in literally looking you in the face). I choose to write about things I’m passionate about or details regarding small personal incidents that may elicit a few smiles from the reader (my goal remains for your beverage of choice to come through your nose, from sheer laughter, but I’ll settle for smiles).

For my next topic, I want to wade through the muddy waters of marriage for a little bit– Put your boots on, you may get a little dirty (not THAT kind of dirty…. don’t feign innocence, I saw where your mind was going…sheesh, married folks always ready to jump right to THAT).

Roughly 7 years ago I decided to read a book that my sister had given to me as a wedding gift. I was so intrigued by its teachings, that when it was offered as a class at our church 5 years later, I drug my husband with me to attend. The revolutionary literature is titled, “Love & Respect: The Love She Most Desires; The Respect He Desperately Needs” by Dr. Emerson Eggerichs. Although I HIGHLY recommend reading the book for yourself, I know there are a million things vying for your attention. Therefore, I have decided to devote this  blog post and maybe some in the future to its teachings, while injecting my own thoughts and experiences into the mix, to spit some critical marital knowledge.

***DISCLAIMER: I, IN NO WAY, HAVE ANY OF THIS PERFECTED***

Let me take this moment to enlighten you in regards to the fact that although Dr. Eggerichs was kind enough to put these ideas into a streamlined format, the original concept did not come from him either. In God’s word it says, “…let each one of you love his wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respects her husband” Eph. 5:33. The foundation upon which the book is written stems from that verse.

There is no doubt in my mind (nor in anyone else’s who is around me) that I love my husband.

 Oh Dear Lawd Have Mercy, I LOOOOVE him.

It comes so very natural to me to verbalize those words as well. On any given day, I will tell my man I love him at least 5 times. It’s easy. I am wired to love, to nurture. How else do you think I am able to stay home with my children all day and regardless of their shenanigans, still allow them to live another day? I love them.

The Lord knew we, as wives, innately possess the ability to love fiercely and communicate it with ease. I believe that is why it is not commanded in the verse above. I don’t need someone to tell me to breath (except for when my husband comes through the door some times…I mean, daaaaaang), I just do it instinctively and without effort…But to communicate respect for my soul mate, that is much harder.

Is it because I don’t?!

That’s straight up cray cray. I respect innumerable things about my handsome hubby. He is an extremely hard worker, whether at home fixing things or within the workplace. I respect the fact that that he is loyal, honest  and can put up with my mental instabilities on a daily basis. When he comes home from work and is tired, he still goes outside to play catch with our boys…mad respect yo. I could continue this section for a good long while, but highlighting all of the respectable actions and attributes of my husband will most likely do nothing for your marriage (but if you ever ask me, be prepared to talk awhile).

It’s just an odd thing to articulate. Go ahead, say it aloud, “(Spouse’s name), I respect you”. It felt a little weird, didn’t it? It did for me. I could hardly come to terms with the fact what he truly wanted (more like, needed) from me was to convey THAT truth to him instead of continually confessing my undying love. I mean, that’s what I crave; to know daily, hourly, weekends and evenings how much he adores me, why would he not need or want the same? Well, spoiler alert, men are different from women, as are their needs within a marriage.

I realize that some of you reading this are getting ready to stop. You don’t respect your husband because he treats you in such an unloving way… it’s hard to fathom uttering those words to a man who constantly neglects your marital and relationship needs. Well, here is one of the principals in the book that is reiterated countless times. If you act towards your husband disrespectfully, he WILL treat you in an unloving manner. Oddly enough this precipitates a vicious cycle, Eggerichs titled it the ‘Crazy Cycle’. When you feel unloved you act and say things aimed to wound, not edify your mate.

(I do feel the need to add this, though. If you are being abused in any way; be it emotionally, mentally or physically, do not hesitate to reach out for help. That is unacceptable … ALWAYS.)

When I originally read the book, during my first year of marriage, I conducted a small experiment. I am considerably nerdy and do enjoy a good quantifiable, scientific rendering of information. My newly-wed husband and I were struggling. Reality and married life were far more difficult than the effortless wooing and dating bliss that had preceded it. Marriage was requiring a fair bit of work and we had yet to master the art of compromise. I have never been labeled as a “gentle soul” or a “passive” individual. I can be VERY stubborn and hard-headed. Unfortunately, I seem to be hard-wired for heated confrontation and am typically always ready to defend MY position/ideas with the fervor of a litigation lawyer.

BUT something had to change.

After internalizing the precepts outlined in the book, I began, unbeknownst to my husband, to put them into practice. I ultimately deferred to him when making important decisions (after my input was presented). I articulated my appreciation for his diligence in obtaining his teaching license while providing for us with the money he had saved from his previous employment . I would respond to his “I love you(s)” at night with “I respect you”. I refrained from man-bashing with my girlfriends and spoke highly of him when in groups. Before engaging in an argument, I would take some time to cool down in order to discuss the issue calmly, while taking great care to verbalize my points with respect. I wrote him notes, sans heart over the “i” in his name, left out the zillion “x(s)” and “o(s)”, just scripted that I respected the fact that at any given moment, I know he would die for me. I made sex an integral and frequent priority (more on this complex subject in a future post). I would sit next to him and watch sports that I had no interest in (if it’s not THE OSU buckeyes football team, you may as well have me watch ice-skating). This research and development trial went on for 4 months. I was AMAZED at the change in my husband when I treated him the way the Bible commanded. Go figure, the Bible was right again (will I ever learn?).  The beginning of the experiment was undoubtedly rough. I was demonstrating respect at every turn and was still not the recipient of loving behaviors.

BUT, I KEPT THE COURSE AND I PRAYED!!!!

I continued to be respectful, regardless of his words or actions!!! I asked God for the strength to treat my mate the way He had commanded me. And what do you know? When I consistently showed my boo the type of respect that he, as a man, required, he began to love me in the ways I needed. He began doing the little things again; scraping off my car in the winter before I even got up so I could easily get to work, cooking dinners with my favorite foods, letting me snuggle the heck out of him on the couch while watching a movie (he is not inherently a toucher), randomly holding me when came through the door, complimenting my appearance (with or without makeup), going to church together weekly… and the list continued. THIS… THIS is how I had envisioned our marriage would be when he asked me three years prior to be his forever lady.

Our marriage thus far, has been a great adventure. We have introduced three argument-inducing, communication-error generating blessings into our marriage; our three sons. Our personal relationships with Christ continue to lead the priority pack with each other following closely behind. Our children, though amazingly wonderful, can never take the place in my life or in my heart wherein my husband resides. We take the first two relationships very seriously, because one day (Oh God willing) our children will marry, begin families of their own and God , my husband and myself will be the three that remain.  I know when that day comes, I will look respectfully into my sweetheart’s intense brown eyes  (…well if I’m standing on a stool or we’re sitting down, being he’s a foot taller than me…) and tell him with all the sincerity in my heart, “My handsome, Louis, I respect you more today than yesterday and please allow me to count the ways….”