“Since culture is intrinsic, it cannot simply be discounted. If it denies and distorts us, then we must change it … “—Eleanor Wilner, Exchange: Meghan O’Rourke, J. Allyn Rosser & Eleanor Wilner on “Women’s Poetry”

Like many of you, dear and Gentle Readers, I grew up with White Privilege before there even was such a term. It was something that was just there, my culture. The ‘N’ word was commonplace in my house, as well as various and sundry other slurs for people who were classified as ‘different’ than us—different color, different religion, different language—it didn’t matter. And it was normal. For me, for my family, to talk like that.

I was fortunate to attend an elementary school where the student body was quite diverse, and I counted as, and socialized with, friends who were Japanese and Chinese, African, Gypsy, and who knows what else. I think attending that school may have helped in the de-education process of my upbringing.

What really de- or re-educated me was the Women’s Army Corps. I had adulted by the time I enlisted (September 1965) and could legally drink and vote in any state in which I lived and was registered. While standing in the chow line and gossiping with fellow Basic Trainees, I made the remark about being ‘free, white, and twenty-one.’ I’d heard it all my life. I grew up saying it. Nobody ever said anything about it, and to be honest, I never thought about it. Well, one of my neighbors put on her hob-nailed (verbal) boots and proceeded to re-educate me. Right then. Right there. 

I have vague recollections of just looking at her as she proceeded to tromp all over me (she was white, by the way), and when she finished, I continued to just look at her for what seemed like a long time, was probably a few seconds. And only her. I’m not sure I was aware of the other few hundred women in line with us. I looked at her and then said, “You’re right. I’ve been saying it forever, and never thought about it. Thank you for explaining.” She was right. It was a racial slur. I was white, neither my ancestors or I were never owned, I was over twenty-one, and could do whatever I wanted. It was a saying that went back to slave days. I don’t think I’ve said it since. But that’s when I began to pay a tad more attention to what I was saying, the unthinking things I learned from my family. Boy Howdy! There were a bunch. That’s not to say it was an overnight re-education, but it was the start, and I’m still working on it. But I’m better. I think.

For those who are curious, I’m around 80% “white” European, 16% “red” Native American, and 3-5% “black” African. In other words, I’m a person of color. Pale and yellow though I may be. I guarantee you; my family would not be happy taking a DNA test in this day and age. And if you stand me next to most Asians, I am actually as “yellow” or more so. (My family was much more “white” than I.) There’s a good possibility there is some Mongolian and or Turkish blood in me, too.

So why am I telling you all this? Because of Eleanor Wilner’s words, “Since culture is intrinsic, it cannot simply be discounted. If it denies and distorts us, then we must change it…” She was speaking about poets and poetry, and I am a poet, but I think she was also speaking about living in a human society. We are products of our upbringing, our culture, our nurturing. But once we’ve adulted, we have a responsibility to re-examine those values with which we were raised, and those that are good, to keep; those that need tweaking or replacing with something better, we need to tweak or replace. It is not enough to say, “I was raised that way” which is tantamount to saying, “I was just following orders” which has repeatedly been struck down through legal channels several times. You can’t change how you were raised, but you can change how you think and act today. You can’t control the external factors around you, but you can control how you react to them. No matter what your age, you can, and perhaps should, learn new tricks.

See, even an old Pelican can learn to dabble like a Canada goose 😉 Fortunately, he’s dabbling for fish; the geese are searching for salad.

I promise, next week’s post won’t be so serious. Honest. Trust me.

Have a great week. Remember to laugh often and loud, learn a new song—try out for a Zoom choir, dance like you’re the sticks on a huge drum, and be sure to stop by again—same goose time, same goose channel. The coffee’s hot, the biscotti are homemade, and we always have time for a short break. Stay safe, stay healthy, and care for and love one another—because one another is all we’ve really got.

Auntie Lenora