To quote the great and powerful Alanis Morrisette, “Isn’t it ironic”.

Yesterday, April 4th, was the 40th anniversary of the death of the truly great and powerful, Dr. Martin Luther King. In remembrance of his legacy hundreds of people made a “recommitment” march through Memphis in order to recommit themselves to the preachings of racial tolerance, equality and non-violence by Dr. King.

Yesterday, April 4th, a Black man drove past my house, saw my husband coming home from the train, rolled down his window and yelled out, “Fucking Mexican!”

Irony at it’s best.

I was outside, in the backyard with my boys. I saw the man drive by but he was around the front of our house when he yelled this out so I did not hear it. I was walking towards my husband and all I saw was a stunned look on his face while standing on the sidewalk with his mouth agape.

Then he told me what happened and I could feel the blood begin to boil in my chest. Then I wore the same stunned look on my face as I stood there in shock.

40 years ago, a man was murdered for his beliefs. A man who wanted peace and equality for all minorities was shot to death. 40 years later, we are still battling racism.

Now, I’m not going to sit here on a pedestal 30-feet in the air and say that I love everyone and that we are all the same because that would be a lie. I don’t believe we are all the same, other than we are all humans with 2 legs, 2 arms, a head, a brain (well, that’s debatable), and red blood running through our veins. That is where our similarities stop… and I am not talking about skin color. That is irrelevant.

I am not the same as a serial killer. OK? I am not the same as a person who thinks it’s acceptable to beat their children. I am not the same as a philanthropist who travels the world and can sit in a poverty stricken village and vow to help them.

I don’t love everyone. I don’t love the man who drove by and yelled a racial slur to my husband yesterday. I don’t love the people who live two houses down and allegedly (in all fairness) deal drugs and beat their women. I am not the same as these people.

Here is something else to stew over, I think there is only a small percentage of people that can claim with absolute certainty that they are not racist. By small percentage I am speaking of, say, less than 15% of Americans.

Here is how Dictionary.com defines the term “racism”

rac·ism
/ˈreɪsɪzəm/ Pronunciation Key – Show Spelled Pronunciati[rey-siz-uhm]

1.	a belief or doctrine that inherent differences among the various human races determine cultural or individual achievement, usually involving the idea that one’s own race is superior and has the right to rule others.

2.	a policy, system of government, etc., based upon or fostering such a doctrine; discrimination.

3.	hatred or intolerance of another race or other races.

Think about your own beliefs. Think hard. Who do you root for on American Idol? The Black girl? The White guy? The Asian girl? What about stereotypes? Have you ever lumped someone in with a group because of a stereotype? How do you feel about people of Middle Eastern descent? Do you even know the difference between a Muslim and Arabian person? Did you know that there WAS a difference?

Stereotypes are perpetuated over and over again, this is why they exist. However, I don’t believe it is right to automatically lump someone in with a stereotypical group based on appearance or social class. But, I think most of us do that anyway, just by nature.

One thing that I know about myself, without a doubt, is that I can love anyone. Anyone. Your skin color and social class don’t matter. The only stipulation is that you not beat your spouse and children and you not be a mass murderer or rapist. If I met someone who just robbed a liquor store and didn’t hurt anyone, I could probably find some good in them, somewhere, and I would try.

I’m not perfect. I cower to stereotypes sometimes. I root for the White girl over the Black girl sometimes only because I can relate better to the White girl. Not because of hate.

I will be your friend, no matter what color you are. I embrace differences and love to ask others who are different from me about their life, their culture. It’s just fascinating. I will be your friend no matter where you live. Social class does not matter because on some level, I’m sure we can find common ground, even if it’s only our love of Dr. Pepper.

As you have read recently, you know I’m not the greatest friend in the world. I make big mistakes. But, I’m an equal opportunity mistake maker. Just so you know.

We are not all the same, and this is OK. Being different is what makes this world special. I absolutely believe that we don’t deserve to be hated because of our differences. But I’m not naive to the fact that physical and social differences influence people’s decisions and loyalties.

To the man who drove by and said “Fucking Mexican” to my husband yesterday…. I don’t like you. I’m angry with you. I could never drive by someone and yell out something like that. You have big balls and a tiny brain. Do us all a favor, keep your thoughts to yourself like the rest of us do. At least pretend to be tolerant.

This might be ugly, but it’s the honest truth. I’m not trying to start a war of the races or even elicit hate comments. I’m just sharing an experience and how I feel about that experience, in all honesty.