A Colorblind Society

I was swimming today at a lake in a state park near me with my godson and goddaughter and their aunt, one of my best friends. There were two busloads of kids from a YMCA swimming as well. I'm not sure where they were from, but probably a bigger city somewhere near here. The kids were being quite rowdy, and my six-year-old godson--we'll call him Ned--had a few pails of water dumped on him and a couple narrow misses with various limbs coming close to his head. So my friend called him and the other kids with us over to where we were and told them they had to stay near us until the rowdy kids left. And Ned, with the innocence of a small-town six-year-old, asked, "You mean until the brown kids leave?"

A majority of the kids from the YMCA were African American, which in our small town is uncommon, so I guess he knew they were different somehow. His question wasn't malicious or angry. He had probably heard himself referred to as "white," so in his head it made sense to call them brown. Of course we told him that wasn't what we called them; they're just kids like you. But, while his innocence was sort of amusing at first, the more I watched him and thought about it, the more it saddened me. Ned is a smart kid, and I could see him processing this new information in his head, where it would surely leave an indelible mark: "Dark-skinned people are different from me. They're rowdy and I shouldn't play with them."

Now I'm not saying that I think he'll turn into a malicious racist or anything like that; his family will raise him better than that. But it does make me wonder if we'll ever live in a color-blind world. It seems like a pretty far reach to hope so. Sure, it's gotten better since the fifties and sixties, but there are still cultural and ethnic differences that are apparent even to a six-year-old. I don't know if it's better or worse in bigger cities where there may or may not be more integration. But in small towns, it seems pretty universal: there is a stigma attached to being different from everyone else.  In my high school class there was one African American. And he was adopted by a white mother. People keep their distance when someone different comes to town. They're wary and uncomfortable. 

And it makes me sad. "A person's a person, no matter how small," says Dr. Seuss, probably one of the wisest men of my childhood. Of course "small" is interchangeable with any number of words, including "color" or "race" or "religion" or "wealth." In society's eyes, I'm lucky that I was born into a Caucasian, middle-class family. And to me, that's all it is, is luck. I'm no better or worse than anyone else. But despite my efforts to look past race, I'm not always successful. Like Ned, there are certain stereotypes that are so ingrained in me, I don't even realize they exist until something brings it up, and I'm forced to confront that little bit of ugliness in me. To bring up another of America's wisest men, Stephen Colbert frequently claims he can't see race. "They're all just people."

If only that was possible for all of us.

Why I'm Not Ready for Marriage

This post is inspired by the five or six friends of mine who have gotten hitched this summer. I'm very happy for all of them, however it has made me acutely aware of how much the thought of marriage at this point in my life is completely alien and disconcerting.

He's actually kind of creepy...

Reason 1: I don't have a man.

Duh. I suppose if I was desperately in love with someone, and they completed me and made me whole and I couldn't imagine life without them things would be different. As it is, this is not the case. In fact, that whole concept strikes me as odd, because I feel quite whole as I am, thank you very much. Even if I did have a man, though, I would not necessarily be ready for marriage. It's probably best that I'm not committed to anyone at the moment. It takes away any pressure that might possibly be there from the guy himself, parents, grandparents, etc. (Not that I think my family would pressure me, just the assumption that this might be THE ONE would be enough to make me reconsider doing things that I might otherwise just go ahead with.)

Reason 2: I may just jet off to England someday soon.

Especially if Sarah Palin even comes close to inhabiting the White House again. But seriously, I want the ability travel and do whatever I want right now. I've been dealing with a traveler's bug like no other the last few weeks, probably exacerbated by living in middle-of-nowhere-PA for so long. Don't get me wrong, I love this place in its own way, but I'm not ready to settle down here for the long haul. I want to get out and explore a bit. (Mom - Don't worry, I'll at least wait until Michael comes home. :p)

Um, no.

Reason 3: I am only mildly domestic.

I told my mom today that she and Dad have probably spoiled my expectations for marriage. I come from a home in which men can and like to cook. My dad is a great cook, as are both of my brothers. It only struck me a couple weeks ago that not all homes are like this. Now, I don't consider myself overly feministic, but I also don't plan to revert to the 40s and 50s either. A man can and should help out around the house. Gender roles be damned. I don't buy into the idea that God created woman to serve man. Sorry, but no. Ours will be an equal-opportunity household. I.e. the Mr. will have plenty of opportunities to change diapers and wash dishes. Especially if I'm working outside the home as well, which seems to be more and more the norm these days.

Don't get me wrong, I like to cook and have no problem doing that. I even like to clean (in intense and random bursts of what I call binge-cleaning). Living with male roommates for a year taught me that I have a latent clean freak hidden in me somewhere.

And what if it turned out to be evil??

Reason 4: I want kids in my life, just not my own.

Someday I definitely want children. No question about it. I can already feel the biological clock beginning to whir and stir. BUT right now I'm content to hold them, play with them, then give them back after a couple hours. Children are fascinating and adorable and wonderful...and exhausting. I guess getting married doesn't necessarily mean the babies start coming immediately, but that's the next step; one I'm nowhere near ready to take.

Reason 5: I have a lot of ME to discover still.

This is probably the biggest factor in my marital immaturity. I have a lot to discover and find out about myself still. Lots of questions to ask, opinions to form, beliefs to iron out. College turned over a whole new leaf for me, and I'm still trying to figure out where exactly that's leading me. It seems rather risky to commit my life to someone, when I'm not even sure where I'm headed or how I'm going to go about getting there.


Alright, I think five reasons are enough for now. Besides, I keep getting distracted by a beautiful yellow butterfly flitting about under the clear blue sky of a summer afternoon. See I do love this place...sometimes.

Toy Story 3

I've gotten a lot accomplished so far today, so I'm pushing on and including a long-overdue blog post in my spurt of productivity. The question is, what do I want to write about? I have a number of topics saved up that I just never seemed to get around to. I'm feel in the mood for something happy and nostalgic at the moment, though, so I'll go with what I deem the best movie I've seen in a very long time. Toy Story 3.

*SPOILER ALERT*

I am fully aware that some of you may be very skeptical about my taste in movies at this point. But this is my own personal opinion and based solely on my emotions and whims. So I'm not interested in arguing about plot or anything like that. I went to see Toy Story 3 a few weeks ago with my mom. I figured that it would be cute and fun, as I had always enjoyed the first two films. In fact I even went back and watched the first two with friends the night before, just to get in the spirit and remind myself what happened in them. What I forgot about was how the Toy Story movies are every bit as enjoyable for adults as they are for kids. There are a number of jokes that are definitely aimed at the parents in the crowd--jokes that I didn't get or even recognize as jokes when I was ten or eleven.

Toy Story 3 did not disappoint in this department. In fact, I think that of the three, the third movie is most geared toward adults. Sure, kids will enjoy the adventures Woody and Buzz have as they try to escape from Lotso, the pink, strawberry-scented bear. But the brunt of the movie, the real core is about growing up. Andy is going to college and leaving behind his toys, his childhood best friends. It's heart-wrenching to watch the abandonment Buzz and the others feel when they think Andy is throwing them out, disregarding all of their history together for something newer and more exciting. We've all been left behind before, whether it be by siblings or friends or significant others.

The thing that makes the Toy Story movies so successful is that they are universal. The premise behind the movies, that your toys come alive when you leave the room, is something I think every little kid believes is true for some amount of time. I know I did. My toys were alive to me. They had stories, backgrounds, likes and dislikes. They loved me, and I loved them. Watching this fantasy come to life on screen draws you in; it takes you back to your own childhood.

There is one scene in particular, where Andy's playtime is illustrated as a child would see it while playing. Everything becomes real. Evil Mr. Porkchop is trying to take over the world with his Barrel O' Monkeys minions and Sheriff Woody and Ranger Buzz have to save the day. It is so perfectly imaginative. I can't get over it. One of my goals in writing is to recapture the child's imagination, because  to me it is one of the most incredible, fascinating things ever. Toy Story has done that. Three times. And it's gotten better every time, in my opinion.

So all of this combined makes the final scene in Toy Story 3 one of the most emotional scenes in a movie I have ever experienced. It had me in tears. And I don't cry during movies. I honestly cannot think of another movie that I've actually cried in. Teared up, maybe, but no rolling tears. It ends with Andy finding the toys that his mother accidentally donated just as he is about to leave for college. And there is a note (written by Woody) telling him about a little girl who lives around the block. So he takes his toys and makes the little girl promise to take good care of them for him. And he has one last playtime session. You can feel the love and reconnection well up in every single heart in the theater, watching Andy play with his toys one last time. It's not something I can get across in words. I strongly recommend that you go and see it for yourself if you haven't already.

It may not have been made for 3D or visually amazing, but it was emotionally outstanding. And I know I'm not alone. A 99% score on rottentomatoes.com is not something to be scoffed at.  All I know for sure is that when I got home that night, I went into my closet and checked on my old friends--Baby Susie, Pink Bear, Samantha and Megan, and all the rest. And I reassured them that I still loved them. And I always would.