Tag Archives: Latasha Harlins

“Tell me what’s a black life worth / A bottle of juice is no excuse, the truth hurts”

You might think I’m only going to write about race, and many of you might roll your eyes.  You’re right–not about rolling your eyes, but about the first part.

Some of you probably might even delete me because you’ve had it with me by this point, since everything I have been posting over the last couple weeks has been related to race and the current state of things.

However, I haven’t posted any blatantly anti-Trump things. I am normally pro-choice–the women’s rights stance, yes, but also the you-being-entitled-to-vote-for-whomever-you-want-stance, and I like to not get into politics on social media.

That being said, I can’t say that I particularly trust anybody who doesn’t believe that Trump is racist and out of his mind. He is harmful, hateful, and volatile. He is a 100-year-step-back for our country. Support expressed for him and his views causes me to narrow my eyes in the same way that a subtly racist or sexist comment one might make, however much in passing, makes me wary. I might appear to have ignored this comment in the moment, but for the rest of the time I know the person who has made said comment, I will always remember it. I will always wonder what this person thinks about me.

In another time (in another political climate) I would apologize for this rant, or for being so black-and-white, so quick to cut someone off because of what he or she believes. In fact, an urge compels me to do so right now. I’m notorious for saying sorry for things that aren’t my fault, so much so that people often make fun of me.

I apologize especially when I’m at work–if I reach for your money too quickly; if you accidentally drop your quarter when I’m reaching for your money; if I feel I’ve left you waiting too long at the counter. A couple of days ago, I had a hand in screwing up a customer’s order at work–the wrong food got put in the oven and the customer had to wait ten more minutes for the right food to come out–and I gave him a piece of pie to make up for it. I felt terrible, apologizing throughout the entire interaction, even when he was on his way out and didn’t seem the least bit perturbed. After all, I didn’t need to apologize that much; homeboy got a free piece of blueberry gooseberry crumble pie as a result, and he gladly accepted it. Even still, I felt guilty.

I’ve heard the rhetoric about apologizing: women are conditioned to do it so often for things they hardly need to apologize for. For things that many men won’t even think about apologizing for. I think this is true to an extent. But I also think that it depends on the person.

For me personally, “sorry” is often a social lubricant. When I say it, I want you to know that I am empathizing with you, or at least trying. I want you to know that I genuinely care about not making you feel awkward or uncomfortable. I know plenty of males who have the same problem with apology vomit–they “sorry” everywhere, all over the living room rug, and suddenly you’re knee deep in it and you’re vaguely annoyed because it’s irritating. But bad habits die hard. I should know.

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