Not My Problem

Ever since I can remember I've been taught not to be racist, particularly against blacks. We would learn about MLK Jr., Frederick Douglass, and tolerance; and we'd learn the flipside: slavery, Jim Crow, the ugly bleeding stain of American history.

Before, I didn't think much of blacks: they were there just like the rest of us, just another part of society. But now I can't meet a black person without thinking of Harriet Tubman and affirmative action debates and studies claiming we're all entrenched with subtle, "symbolic" racism.

Ironically, I think all this education is making me a racist—in that I have ended up committing the cardinal sin of looking at individuals in terms of categories. I don't see John; I only see a living, walking struggle for equality.

All this education has also changed how I see myself. I used to think that Civil Rights, racism, and all that jazz were things that Whites and Blacks needed to sort out, that it was their problem. But the more I learn about it, the more I'm drawn in, and the more white guilt and black anxiety become mine.

The In Crowd

All through grade school I believed in the social hierarchy. I believed that it was more prestigious to hang out with some groups of kids rather than others, or that there was something intrinsically better about being in certain company. To hang out with the cool kids, then, was success, and not to do so was to fail—not only fail, but also have to hang out with them.

So of course I worked as hard as I could for "success," and in so doing I treated other kids based on which group they belonged to. If they were part of the "upper" group, then I tried my hardest to be congenial and friendly and impressive; but if they were part of the "riffraff," the kids with faces covered in pimples who sat in the corner discussing anime, then I made sure to end the conversation quickly, lest a cool kid catch me and implicate me by association.

But I never made it into the in crowd. I spent most of my school days alone, confused, not realizing that in pursuing the people who "should" have been my friends, I ended up alienating the people who would have been my friends.

Adulthood Doesn't Happen On Its Own

I always assumed that when kids grow up, they naturally become more responsible, socially-aware, and self-directed. These values were just supposed to grow on you, like facial hair. Not true.

The background story for how this realization came about is rather long and unnecessary, but the point is that it doesn't seem like adulthood happens on its own anymore. Of course, the body will age and grow and the facial hair will come without asking. But those qualities that make adults adults don't.

I'm talking about that kind of adulthood which drives my mother to cook for us every day, even though she doesn't want to. I'm talking about the kind of adulthood that pushed my dad to work harder when I was born, because he realized that my health and well-being were in his hands. I'm talking about that kind of adulthood that makes people understand they need to confess to their mistakes, even if it hurts their ego. I'm talking about the kind of adulthood where people know in their bones that their needs are not the only ones that matter.

These values are the true hallmarks of adults, and they don't come automatically—or easily. Every day we must make an effort to inculcate these ideals, to improve ourselves, so that we can inspire the coming generation as we strive to live up to the promise of the previous one.