Inter-Human Relations

I’m a Georgia Cracker. That’s not a boast, but a statement of fact. (Well, the official story at least. I wasn’t born in Georgia, nor any US state. … Howdy #DieHomeStapo.)

Dad was in the USAF and we toured bases, mostly in the South because he was involved in flight training. Better chances of good flying weather.

I wasn’t in the Peach Tree state for long. Thereafter, my formative years, up to 9th grade were predominately in the South. First through Ninth in Texas. (I’m even a naturalized Texas citizen. Bet Dubbya can’t claim that.)

How did I avoid turning into a racist ass. MAGAt hat wearing, son of a bitch, a #Deplorable? My home environment.

Dad was a Michigander. Grandad’s namesake is abolitionist, Lloyde Garrison. A nth great uncle was part of the Underground Railroad.

Mom was English. While Dad didn’t believe in discrimination, but was all too aware of it. Mom, found the whole idea rather ridiculous

I wasn’t taught hate. I wasn’t even taught race. I was taught to always judge the person, not appearance, etc. I was maybe four or five when we lived in Ohio for a bit. I was playing with the neighbourhood kids, acting the fool. I was pretending a metal curtain rod was a horn and blowing it. A stumble cut the roof of my mouth. Blood everywhere.

Mom asked who I was with. “The boy with curly hair.” Nobody told me he was coloured. I didn’t know.

Dad retired and we settled in the Lou in a peculiar aberration of anti-diversity. I finished high school in a town which had no NO non-white residents. Well, they did treat the Mexs as almost white.

I had grown tired of moving from Dad’s AF days. I stayed. The town slowly, reluctantly integrated. Next I was in Lake StL. Not a whole lot different.

Now, I’m in Alton, IL, living in a city and building along with a number extremely tanned individuals. What’s that like? How do I treat them?

It’s fucking simple. I treat them as fellow humans, with manners and respect. The human race IS the only race. The rest are racist delusions.

What I don’t do is try to be something I’m not. I don’t try to appropriate culture.

You are what you is. You is what you am. A cow don’t make ham