I've recently had a new conversational experience. I've written previously about being the only white guy in a social group. And in private, I've talked to the other members of that group, comparing notes about my situation vs. their own experiences with being a polka dot. But never before had I met another white dot with whom I could compare notes. The notes are astoundingly similar, right down to what we loathe (and miss) in milquetoast Seattle.
Interracial relationships are just plain different here. They don't really exist in any way familiar to me. If I talk to local black friends about race, you can bet they're from somewhere else. The topic is awkward here to the point of being thought, for lack of a better word, impolite. And while I certainly see the idealistic upside of a raceless existence, something's missing. Something I enjoy. Something I miss. Examining differences is critical thought. It's a way of engaging with another human being, of understanding, of becoming closer, of broadening one's own life. Black or white, these things are not often priorities in Seattle. Racially speaking, living in Seattle is like always vacationing where you've already been. It's affirming, but are you exploring? Are you learning anything? Are you having as much fun as you could?
I feel it most strongly not when I'm here, but there. When I'm home in Columbus and I'm mercilessly teased. Or when a stranger in a Detroit bar confides in me that the cops he fears most "aren't the white guys, but the brother man," and talks at length about absurdly complex problems I will never face and would otherwise not know about. Or when I find myself a polka dot in St. Louis or Pittsburgh or Miami and I receive the familiar, if nameless, nod of reassurance that I've given and received most of my life, from both sides of the polka dot equation.
We don't do that here. It's impolite. Or maybe it's as one friend once sighed: "Everyone here is repressed. Why would we be any different?"
That's affirming. I guess.