A couple of weeks ago, I was at the Indianapolis airport waiting on Jason’s plane to arrive.    I was waiting in the main hub – a circle where all of the incoming planes dump out their passengers.  It’s primarily dominated by overpriced fast food, a couple of souvenir shops, and possibly one actually honest-to-goodness bookstore.   I’ve been there before.   It was a comfortable place for me.

Understandably, I was nervous.  I hadn’t seen Jason in eight months.  He hadn’t seen me – and the weight I gained during that time.  During his last visit, he was a bit of an ass and I really didn’t want that behavior repeated with my family.  The last time I saw him the old anxiety/panic attacks started come back.    I was just nervous.   Really nervous.
–  And the more nervous I became, the more I started to become aware of my surroundings and the faster I walked.

Newspapers, magazines, and the overhead televisions where all centered on Charlottesville.  I typically pay some attention to the news, but this huge event went under my radar.  All I knew was that there was a march that became violent, someone might have died, and certain statues and monuments became objectified and torn down.  White nationalists or white supremacists – whatever the difference is – had a rally and a bunch of bad stuff happened.
–  There really wasn’t a lot of details at the time, but I was waiting for Jason and nervous as hell.   That took priority at that time.

Still, as I walked around the circle waiting for the plane with news about Charlottesville coming out of every media orifice, I couldn’t help but notice that I was in the minority.  The people coming off the planes where Hispanic, African American, and Indian.  The people where taller, shorter, younger, older, skinner, and fatter than I was.

Essentially, I became exceedingly aware of how different I was – and it was such a weird feeling.  I started walking faster, clutched the opening of my jean purse, and started to glance behind me.  I tried to i.d. anyone sitting in the middle that might be watching my pace.  If someone was following me, if only for a few steps, I would alter my direction, often turning to face the person just to get a good look at the innocent’s person face.

It was irrational behavior.   I wasn’t doing anything wrong.  I had the right to be there.  I don’t identify myself with the people who started the violence in Charlottesville.  I wasn’t intentionally raised to be suspicious of people because of their gender, skin colour, or weight.  I never rejected a friend based upon country of origin, last name, or vocal accent.  I don’t cross the street to avoid walking by people.   That’s stupid.   As an adjunct, all students are treated the same.    People have an equal opportunity to fail or succeed.   I don’t differentiate, no matter how much grief a student puts me through.   They started college for their own reasons and not to intentionally to fail.   Although it happens, it could happen to anyone.   I’m not one to judge.

I know I’m discriminated against.   My weight, height, hair colour, education level, and the jobs my parents had.  I know that it’s affected who speaks to me, my job, my grade in school… but none of that really mattered after a while.   People will be people – in a non-violent and not abusive way.

I shouldn’t be penalized because of pasty freckled skin.  Nor should I be given any favors.   I don’t think I should be given any privileges because of it either.  If I’ve been granted any during my life, I did not covet the favor… or at least not intentionally.
I’m a stubborn woman.   For good or for bad, I’m make my own way.  I don’t expect others to swoop in and help with first world problems.

Maybe I’m just living in a dream world… in my own little perception bubble.  When people look at me, do they see me or a white nationalist?  Do they assume all of the stereotypes and treat me accordingly?   How would I know unless someone said?  If it isn’t bluntly pointed out to me, I’d just think the person was a jerk or having a bad day.   How would I know?

I guess I got a dose of what others feel… and I didn’t like it.   It was just so odd and I guess I have Charlottesville to thank for that.

Know what?
I don’t care.  If someone judges me by my pasty skin, they’re committing the same felony that I’m silently accused of.

–  I guess that’s why it is so important not to be afraid and to be genuine, no matter how embarrassing it may be.

I hope society outgrows this soon.  It sucks.