Not everyone can see the world through your particular pair of glasses
When I was a sophomore in high school, I dated a freshman from another school, a guy I’ll just call “Paul.” Paul was cute, I mean really cute, and a gentleman if I’ve ever met one. A really nice guy. I remember one day he called me while I was doing dishes, the radio was on in the background, and one of my favorite songs came on. It was Flashlight, by a group called Parliament. And what did I do? What any stereotypical black person does when they hear a song they really like:
Me: Awww yeah, that’s my JAM right there!
Paul: What’s that?
Me: Flashlight.
Paul: I don’t know that one.
Me: By Parliament? You know, Flashlight. <At this point I either put the phone up to the radio or I sang along with the chorus, I can’t remember which.>
Paul: No, doesn’t sound familiar to me.
Me <incredulously>: Really? How could you not know Flashlight? <I thought knowing the song Flashlight was a prerequisite for being black! I mean, can you even get your ‘black card’ without knowing at least one George Clinton/Parliament/Funkadelic song!?!?>
The mistake I made here is, just because Paul looked like me (in that he was black), and was around my age, I assumed he’d grown up in an environment similar to my own, and had experienced things similar to what I’d experienced. I found out very quickly just how wrong I was.
Paul then shared with me how he grew up. You see, he previously lived in California, and his mother was a prostitute. When she went to “work,” she would drop him and his younger sister off at the baby sitter’s house. And one day she dropped them off and never came back. And every day thereafter, for months, he and his sister looked for her, hoping she would eventually return and take them back home.
They remained in the care of this adult for years, who subjected them to cruel and unusual punishment, as if they were responsible for becoming her burden. One experience he shared with me had to do with the very same thing I was doing at the time; washing dishes.
“We had to make sure the dishes were clean, because if we missed a spot, she would make us take every last dish out of the cupboards and wash them all. And if we missed a spot on any of those…” His voice trailed off and I could only imagine what type of punishment they were subjected to.
I knew he was in foster care at the time we were dating, because my sister was dating his older brother. The woman who’d taken him and his sister in was an incredible woman who’d taken in quite a few foster children. She had plenty of love to share among them all, and wasn’t in it just for the money. I had no idea what he’d been through prior to ending up with her, and I never asked because I knew enough to know that no one ever ends up in foster care as a result of positive circumstances.
I remember Paul and I attended a school dance together, and man was I excited because I loved to dance. Still do. And did I mention how cute he was? I know he has got to be fine as hell now. Anyway, I couldn’t wait to get on the dance floor with him and show everyone how well I could do the latest dances. And the icing on the cake would be when he wrapped his arms around me and we rocked back and forth together to a slow song. But instead, I got my feelings hurt, because Paul didn’t want to dance. When I tried to encourage him otherwise, he flat out refused. I was crushed. And my friends (I think there were four other couples total), they were pissed. Especially the guys. In fact, I remember convincing them to get up and dance with me before there was talk about taking Paul in the bathroom and showing him how not to treat a nice young lady such as myself. Before I knew it, we were all dancing together in a haphazard circle, in an attempt to soothe my bruised ego. And Paul remained seated at the table, alone. The ride home was awkward to say the least, and when I dropped him off, I couldn’t drive away fast enough. I never called him again, and I believe he returned the favor.
It didn’t dawn on me at the time, but now it’s crystal clear. It wasn’t that Paul didn’t want to dance, it was that he DIDN’T KNOW HOW. So why would a guy who didn’t know how to dance agree to take me to a dance?
A.) He really liked me,
B.) I really wanted to go, and
C.) because he’d never been to one.
You could argue that in the case of Paul I was young and naïve, and hadn’t really learned what it means to have true compassion for others yet. And I might agree with you. It was all about me, and my feelings, and even after he shared his childhood experiences with me, it never dawned on me how he must’ve felt. But now that I’m older and wiser, I’m always working on trying to be a better person. I really do seek to understand. But even now, as I continuously work on improving myself and how I react to others, it doesn’t mean that I always get it right.
I recently received an email from a co-worker whom I didn’t know anything about. I’d simply worked on a project with them, and we’d shared very minimal conversation. In fact I admit, contrary to the point of this blog posting, I’d labeled this person as miserable and/or angry without really knowing anything about them. About a week after the project ended, I received this unsolicited email from this person, thanking me. It was sincere, and contained very personal and intimate details about this person’s life and what they’d been going through. This person told me that something I’d said during our project inspired them to make some changes in their life for the better. And the funny thing is, I wasn’t even talking to this person when I said what I said. They just happened to overhear me say it to someone else. What I said stayed with them, motivating them. It’s so funny to me that when I was younger, I really didn’t understand why things like this happened to me all the time. Why perfect strangers (associates, co-workers, etc.) choose to confide in me. Now I don’t even question it, I just accept that it must be a part of my purpose, my ultimate reason for being here.
So the next time you find yourself asking “what the heck is wrong with that person?,” take a moment to think about Paul. Whatever a person is going through, it doesn’t give them the right to treat you less than you deserve to be treated, but just try not to take things so personally. Seek to understand, try to have a little patience, and remember you never know what the person has been through or is going through. In fact, their behavior usually isn’t even about you, you just happen to be a convenient target.
Excuse me while I take a moment to clean my philosophical glasses,
Angela