A Sad Story of Our Human Condition
When I was growing up in Southern California, I lived in an almost white bubble. There were a few Hispanics, which were derided as "low riders" or "beaners." Growing up, I had no black or Asian friends.
When I began attending Junior High, in my 7th or 8th grade I had an English teacher, a Mr. Robinson, who was black. But after a few weeks, I did not see him as a black teacher, but as Mr. Robinson, my English teacher, who I liked. Sometime after that transition, I happened to pass by his desk. On it was a portrait of a black women. Someone told me she was his wife. But I was flummoxed, why would Mr. Robinson marry a black women?
Soon, maybe only a few seconds later, it hit me, Mr. Robinson was black too!
My ready acceptance of my teacher was perhaps facilitated by growing in a Christian family, singing songs in Sunday School like Red and Yellow, Black and White, They are precious in His Sight, Jesus loves all the children of the world. But if I had grown up in Waco, or Atlanta, or Richmond, I probably would not have been so open to equality.
Several years later, working at my first full time job after graduating High School, at the Long Beach Naval Shipyard, about half the men I worked with were black. They accepted me and I believed I accepted them.
One day, I forgot to bring my lunch, and so at lunch time, after looking and not finding my lunch pail, I sat down along and began contemplating my stupidity. One of the black men I was working with noticed my lack, and he said his wife always packed way too much for him, and would I like one of his sandwiches? I jumped at the chance, took the carefully wrapped sandwich, unwrapped it, and as it was heading for my mouth,a thought flashed in my depraved mind, "Is this going to taste funny?" Realizing my error, I took a huge bit and, of course, it was delicious.
But it was in contemplating my "innate" response, I realized we categorize the unknown using rather primal and tribal survival assumptions.