I had an outing Tuesday, to the Indian Wells Tennis Garden for the big-deal tournament that's held there each early March.
It was a gorgeous day. I'd packed a little picnic. And within a few minutes of arriving, I had a shocking realization--I am prejudiced! I already knew that, but I mean against my own people! White folks. I'm like a gay homophobe: a secretly self-loathing Caucasian!
One of the reasons I hadn't known this is that I had been lulled into a false sense of security through years of attending Mass with exclusively Hispanics and Filipinos (there are only two white Catholics in all of L.A., me and Bill MacIver). But to be surrounded, for once, by Anglos...whoa.
I mean there is nothing INHERENTLY wrong with a 30-year-old couple identically dressed in fake beekeeper hats, or shaggy hairdos on women with a visor plunked in the middle so the hair falls over and around it like a Cousin Itt, or head-to-toe golf attire, or plastic surgery. (I of course was dressed in head-to-toe black including a pair of utterly inappropriate pointy ankle boots (the temperature was 84) and looked like a refugee from East Poland).
On the instant, I accepted what I could not change. I conceded to my innermost self what my perpetually tormented, faux-victim soul has all my life resisted.
You're white and you're middle class.
Get over it.