I love when people assume just because I am “white” with red hair and blues eyes, I must be a racist like them.
Case in point: Joplin white supremacists.
Yesterday at my place of employment, a customer asked me where I like to go out. I recommended Blackthorn Pizza and Pub “… right next to Club 502.”
“Is that where all the black people go?” my customer asked. “I would get my ass kicked if I went there.”
“Why exactly?” I asked.
My customer then revealed to me his forearms, proudly declaring his status as a “skinhead.”
“A white boy like me? No way,” he said. “Have you ever heard of the “Joplin Honkies?”
Not really enjoying the company of my new skinhead friend, I quickly looked for an exit strategy.
“No,” I replied. “You know, ‘white’ people go to that club too.”
And with that, I hurried off to greet my new, imaginary table.
And now, looking back on the not-so-distant encounter, I feel a little guilty.
Should I have said something more? Been more bold in making known my disapproval of his racist attitude? Though he didn’t actually say anything racist, his intent was clear.
Perhaps I just feel guilty for being looked at as one of “them.”