The White Side of Racism

Fair. I’m a crier.

I lose it over commercials, posts and quotes on social media.. don’t even show me a picture of a sick little kid. Water works. Ugly sobs of emotion. I’ve been like this my whole life sans a short, heavily medicated period.

I lost it tonight.

I teach English Language Development. You know, to those foreigners who are ignorant and rude and take what is rightfully ours and sometimes blow us up? Yeah, that’s what I hear all the time. Hatred.

My job is basically my whole life. My kids make me happy, sad, angry, frustrated, fulfilled. I get to be a mom, the only thing I’ve wanted to be in this life. I understand a lot of Spanish now, know a few phrases in Farsi and have put to use hand signals specific to tribes in Africa.

I can, and do, fight for my babies. When I talk about my job in any public place I always have my strength level up and statistics prepared. I combat the hatred swiftly and kindly, with a smile and sincerity. It’s not that hard, . I often don’t know the people and will likely never see them again. I can walk away, knowing I shared my peace, comfortable with the conversation.

When the hatred spills across your own dining room table, however, you are unprepared. Your stomach turns and your calm, cool, collected look is resting elsewhere, not suspecting work at home.

I left the table and secluded myself to my room to cry.

I love you my children. I even have to fight my own family for you. But I will.

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