The Human Race

What color is the blood of all people, do we not all bleed the same? Are my thoughts any different than yours, are my adversaries any less threatening? Do you think that the color of my skin makes me less human? What right do you have to turn your nose down at me, stereotyping me, branding me with your descending attitude, your racism, and your discrimination against people of my color. What right do you have to judge me and my character without ever speaking a single word to me. How many times have you passed me without looking me in the eyes, without acknowledging my presence, ignoring my ‘hello’ as you amble past me. What are you scared of?

I am faced every day with people like you. Condescending, judgmental, shallow people. Why do people give us tags, calling us Afro-Americans, African-American, Nigger, Negro or trying to be gentle and calling us colored? I could have said, why do white people give us these tags, tags seem to be their labels, their way of placing themselves apart from other “types” of people. I am an American, and proud to be an American. As a young man I joined the navy in the Vietnam era, proud to be serving my country. My father, my adopted father, encouraged me not to join and telling me, “It’s not our war, you have no business over there, you have no business in the white man’s army or navy.” I enlisted and served 10 years, for our country and for myself. My father looked at me with disgust when I told him the news, like I had switched sides and was unfit to be a part of his family.

I have so many stories I could tell, most of them not pretty. I am a loner, I feel like I never fit in, anywhere. My own birth mother didn’t want me, giving me away when I was a toddler. My natural father, I know nothing about. My adoptive mother, the sweetest, kindest, loving woman on the face of this earth, whom I love dearly, thinks of me as her son. My adoptive father was always anxious to point out I wasn’t his son, and that I would be somehow different, if I had been his son.

I am human, I have emotions just like you do. I laugh, I cry, I sing, I get sad and depressed, I feel happy and joyful, I smile and I frown. I have everyday issues and responsibilities, I have hopes and dreams and goals, many of which have been crushed and pushed aside, so I sit back and re-evaluate and build new dreams and hopes, set new goals.

I am looking for a place, a place where people are people, where racism doesn’t exist. To find a place where people reach out to shake your hand and say hello, whenever you pass on the street. A place that doesn’t frown or speculate on my interracial relationship with my significant other, that instead they think, how lucky they are, to be so much in love with each other. When I’m with my lady, I am in this kind of place. I am with someone who loves me, all of me, regardless of my skin color. Together we have nothing, yet together we have it all. We have our own little world, we spend days together, and the outside world never steps in, until its time to go back to work. Then it’s like leaving our little bubble and I walk outside pass someone on the sidewalk, those that swerve wide to avoid me getting to close. The look in their eyes, or upon their faces, sometimes I see fear, sometimes hatred, and sometimes-blank empty faces that pretend I’m not there. “Hello” I say to each of them, more times than not, I continue walking without any response back.

I am made constantly aware of the diversity of people, the human race. I am passionate about the insensitivies of other people. I am appalled at the levels of racism I see everyday, yet I too, have found myself thinking racist thoughts, especially against the Middle Eastern Asians and Mexicans, during the state of the world today. The loss of jobs in the United States due to the immigrants and migratory people, how they are taking jobs from us, willing to work at lower wages, allowing companies to lower their pay scales. How foreigners are coming to America for their degrees and schooling, learning new trades. With the tragedy of 911, I cringe that we might be partly responsible for teaching these men to fly our aircraft. I am saddened to see someone of Asian ascent and the first word to enter my mind is terrorist. I move quickly past that fleeting thought and begin talking to them, if they’re willing, wanting to hear their story.

I am a black man. I am a truck driver. Even my profession is often stereotyped and classified as a lower-race. I am 48 years old and I have made no major contribution to this world thus far. I am neither low-class nor high-class. I strive to be the best person I can be, to meet the potential I have inside of me. I approach people, any people, in the manner in which I’d like to be treated, as a person, as an individual, as another member of the human race. Would the world be a better place if we were all blindfolded, so that we could not let color or race blind us so.
This is our world lets make it a kinder, better place to live. Let us not teach our children about racism or colors, but instead teach them about people and cultures and about individualism.

I vow to do my part. Let me introduce myself to you and say, “Hi, my name is Robert, it is a pleasure to meet you. How are you today?” And may we both walk away with a smile on our faces, knowing that we touched one another with kindness, acknowledgement and without prejudice.