The Susan Sequel

If you couldn’t already tell from my prior blog posts, I am exceptionally liberal (and proud of it). In my own mind, I like to think that I am open-minded to all people, regardless of race, gender, religion, identity, sexuality, etc. However, a few weeks ago, I said something pseudo-racist (or at least I thought it was) and it has really haunted me ever since.  On the last Saturday that we were in Mexico, there were a few weddings on the property and, on the way back to our room, we saw at least three different couples taking wedding photos on the beach.  Later that night, after dinner and a few tequila shots, I found myself alone in the elevator with two tipsy, black women in beautiful dresses. When I complimented them on how pretty they looked, they proceeded to tell me that their sister had just gotten married and that they were bridesmaids.  Without skipping a beat, I told them that I had seen their sister and that she looked gorgeous. Herein lies the problem… I didn’t know who their sister was, I merely assumed that she was the only black girl I had seen getting married that day. Immediately, I was appalled by my presumption; however, they didn’t seem fazed and proceeded to tell me how amazing the wedding was (truly, one of them complimented my shoes and rested her head on my shoulder, but that’s a story for a different day).

Clearly, my comment was, at the very least, stereotypical, even if they didn’t seem to care (it was obvious that they had also had some tequila at that point so I don’t think they were thinking much about me). For whatever reason, this incident has stuck with me; I am fifty and grew up in the seventies and eighties. We said politically incorrect things all the time just because we did, no one told us not to and there was no social media recording our every move (I would be a hot mess in today’s virtual society). I remember using the word “gay” to describe someone being ridiculous and “retarded” to describe someone acting stupid (never thinking about what those terms actually meant). Sitting here today, I am FULLY aware that neither of these terms are okay and I would strongly chastise my children if they even remotely thought that way (much less said it). However, we didn’t know better and these phrases were part of our everyday vernacular (as embarrassing now as that is to admit). And while there is no humor in it, it is ironic to think of how the times distinguish your behavior (if I told someone in the 70’s that something was “lit,” they would have probably have called the fire department asap).

Which brings me full circle to the #metoo movement. Clearly, things that would have been acceptable in the 70’s and 80’s are no longer (and rightfully so). The other day, my mother reminded me about the time in 11th grade when I worked to get my lifeguard certification. To make a long story short, I took the grueling course with four male friends and I was the only one of us who passed the practical exam on the first try (yes, that did feel good). Regardless of the fact that I was a strong swimmer, the boys told our friends that I had only passed because the instructor had a crush on me (not remotely true).  From what I do recall, they were simply embarrassed that a girl had passed the test and that they didn’t (it didn’t matter to them that I had mad skills).  And, while you would hope that this was just another generational story, a similar incident happened to Hannah when she was in sixth grade. My non-athletic child decided that she was going to be on the swim team (sadly, I had to waste money on the special bathing suit and fancy goggles). She was so excited, going to practice and swimming her little heart out. On the day of her first meet, she warmed up, took her place on the block, zoned out and completely forgot to dive into the pool, immediately disqualifying her (no one who knows Hannah will be remotely surprised by this story). Since this was a swim “club,” the coaches were adamant that she get her turn and placed her in the next meet, with all boys. This time, Hannah actually remembered to dive in the pool and proudly came in seventh out of eight swimmers (in our family, it’s the little things). As she reveled in her non-loss, the little boy who came in eighth sat on the edge of the pool, crying like a baby, embarrassed that he had lost to a girl (truly, he should have been more embarrassed that he lost to someone so uncoordinated). Moral of the story: the more things change, the more they stay the same (and, for the record, that was Hannah’s first, and last, swim meet).

As I watched the Golden Globes the other night, I had an odd reaction to the celebrities #timesup protest; I didn’t have a reaction one way or the other (which is super strange for someone as opinionated as me). Mind you, I applaud anyone who takes a stand against injustice, in whatever form. However, celebrities wearing an array of gorgeous black, designer gowns just didn’t make the impact on me that it did on some others (feel free to call me cynical). And while I love Seth Meyers, his telling a few jokes about Woody Allen and Harvey Weinstein didn’t offer much in the way of furthering a historic, national movement. It all felt very blah and very contrived, both things I dislike (and don’t even get me started on the whole Oprah 2020 phenomenon). Additionally, the awards were boring and Seth Meyers wasn’t on nearly enough (I think he is just adorable); not to mention that I don’t understand how Lady Bird could win for Best Movie but its Director wasn’t even nominated (did the movie just direct itself).

None-the-less, I am very interested to see where the movement goes and hope that it prompts a lot of beneficial changes. I don’t want future generations feeling compelled to tell their own sexist stories in blog posts. And, in case you were curious, I don’t really think that I’m racist, even though I did say something I am not proud of. This year, I am going to try to think more before I speak (and drink less tequila before I get in elevators). Adios!