Thoughts on being white.

A funny thing happened today.
My name is Liz Moss. I am very short. I have dark hair, dark eyes, and darker skin (but only if you leave me out in the sun too long.) I love Mexico. It's my favorite place in the entire world. I was born in Italy, grew up in Petoskey, but I am Mexican at heart. The greatest compliment I receive is when people ask if I'm Latina. Which, to my delight, happens fairly often. Unfortunately, I have to respond, "No," with a big fat pouty frown. I have a wonderful friend. Her name is Alisha. We met in DTS and she is one of my closest friends. She is of German decent. She has blue eyes. She is pretty gosh darn gorgeous, but if you would tell her that directly, she might get a little flushed. Alisha minored in Spanish. If you were to ask me, her heart is probably Mexican too. She speaks Spanish super well.... I have a hard time keeping up with her. But a funny thing happens when we get together in Mexico. If we are with Spanish speakers, they will turn and talk to someone with dark hair and dark eyes regardless of their actual ability to speak Spanish. As you can probably imagine... this is very frustrating. Imagine being written off as not being able to speak Spanish because you have blue eyes when in fact you do speak it and much better than the Americans with brown eyes. Hm..... funny the assumptions we make. Even unconsciencely. So anyway, this morning I was helping out with a GREAT BIG birthday party for the kids of Metro Ministries. I was assisting with cutting the cake for the almost one hundred kids who had come to the party. I was cutting the cake in a home of a neighbor who lives just across the street from where we put on the program. An assistant of Metro Ministries came to help cut the cake as well. She is from Canada and has light skin and freckles. I had just met her that morning on the drive to Santa Ana where the party was to be held. She had spent a good chunk of time in Latin America and therefore spoke Spanish very well. The neighbor lady said (in Spanish), "I think we should check and see if all of the children have had a piece of cake." And the Canadian (who shall remain unamed) replied, "Let me go find out." Now, as you may be able to gather... I understood all of this. And the preceeding conversation... and everything else that had been said. However, the ministry helper turned to me and said, "I'm going to see if all the children have cake." It had been her presumption that because I am from the United States I needed translation. Which would be a valid assumption.... if I fit my stereotype and did not speak any Spanish. And so, in order to be kind and keep me in "the loop" she translated for me. I found this experience interesting. It makes you wonder how often we make false assumptions without any idea of the better. "Don't judge a book my it's cover." I'm sure you've heard the expression. I was never too fond of it. But I am finding it out to be oh so true.... In what circumstances do we make these false assumptions? Is it limited to something as simplistic as the example I gave above? I think not. Do we do it daily? Do we do it with children? Do we sometimes look at a child and judge them. "They are misbehaving. They must need a spanking. That child needs discipline. That is a bad child." Do you ever think this? What if that kid just needs to be loved. What if they just need to know that somebody cares. That you care. That God cares. Maybe we don't just apply this to the screaming kid in the super market. Maybe we judge adults in the same manner. Maybe it's even as innocent as assuming the white girl from Michigan doesn't speak Spanish. It's just a thought. Are we all guilty of this? Perhaps not. But it's a challenge. And so I challenge not to judge a book by it's cover. The content inside may just surprise you.