Dinner And A Show: My Skin Color, Your Entertainment

Ignorant inquiries by racist troglodytes before the dinner rolls hit the table.

I’ve encountered all types of racists in my life, and there are many.

There are those who are overt in how they come at you, those who are cunning in their delivery, and then of course there are those who hide behind their ignorance and pretend to have a willingness to be interested in who you are. These latter abominations of decency are the ones that freak me out the most. No matter what identity they possess, or tactics they take, one unmistakable trait these people have in common is they are all racist.

There is no hiding this fact.

Family gatherings for instance — supposed safe spaces, are no different from the encounters one might face outside the comforts of home. Occasionally you may find yourself fielding the toxic curiosity of someone familiar, even before the salad is served.

Welcome to the family

It was early in my father’s relationship with his now-wife. A time when the two respective worlds were in the “get to know each other” phase. The occasional mixing of families was in its infancy and it was during this time, I met and had to endure some rather “interesting” interactions with folks I would not normally associate with.

Each appearance at my father’s betrothed all-white family events brought new opportunities for me to play defense; especially when it came to my interaction with “uncle” Norm (by marriage). Not the loveable, “everyday man” character from Cheers, whom everyone knew, rather, this Norm I often had the non-pleasure of seeing during these gatherings.

For some reason, Norm found it his responsibility to sidle up to me whenever I made an appearance. At holiday dinners especially, when an audience was held captive at the dinner table for an hour or so, his attention would inevitably be directed toward me once the final guest took their seat. It didn’t matter if we were seated next to one another (which I always dreaded) or seated on opposite sides of the table. He would always seek me out with his disturbing and offensive line of questioning.

When you are put in uncomfortable situations such as this, your strategy often is to make nice, sport that half smirk of acknowledgment, and affirm you’re present and somewhat interested. I’m not an actor so my “tells” were on full display. The half smirk was nothing more than a way to keep the nonsense rolling along without having to participate or confirm Norm’s misguided prejudice. It’s survival. And I have been in this position more times than I care to remember.

Norm’s over-the-top enthusiasm bordered on “crazy town,” as if he was given a new toy to play with — a Black toy. And it never helped matters when he befriended the libation counter beforehand.

Living in northern New Hampshire where woodland creatures roamed the forest and yet to be identified species of moss blanketed the landscape, I don’t think Norm had ever met a Black person, or at the very least, came in contact with one in quite some time. It was clear these get-togethers were his long-awaited opportunity to share with me, whatever his discriminatory mind could conjure.

Early on the questions this clown tossed my way had the flavor of old school racism, the kind that lived in the minds of slave owners or debutants looking to distance themselves from anything “dirty.” I typically checked out after the comments about fried chicken or, whether I enjoyed being on the basketball team (I was never on a basketball team). Sandwiched between assuming what trade I was interested in “if I graduated,” to thinking I had already been arrested for a crime… I couldn’t easily escape without appearing rude.

The things you endure for others.

As time went on and Norm’s proclivities for inappropriate musings about Black people became widely known, the excuses from family members came out in droves; “he means well,” “he doesn’t know what he is saying,” or “don’t pay him any mind, he’s just a little odd.” Yea, no, he’s a full-on racist who gets off on expressing his mental shortcomings.

So you’re saying I should simply ignore him? Why is this my responsibility? Come to think of it, I don’t recall anyone ever calling him out for his racist behavior.

Having to constantly dodge tone-deaf inquires about who you are and what you are as if you were on display for the sole purpose of being picked at, prodded, and humiliated was no fun. It always felt like I was a social experiment.

Though I never took the bait, I did suffer through this uncomfortable setting for years, as it was important to my father that I be present and supportive of his new extended social pool. His acknowledgment of Norm’s “microaggression-laden” behavior however felt refreshing, and fortunately, neither of us spent much time with him, but on those future occasions when everyone did get together, my father would routinely run interference for my absence.

Uncle Kracker

Fast forward 25 years and the nightmare of long ago that I had hoped would never reoccur, did. And with a vengeance. I saw good ol’ uncle Norm at a wake recently and as if he thought I was his long-lost friend, he made a beeline for me when I entered the main area of the funeral home. At first, it took me a minute to recognize who it was suffocating my personal space — aggressively suggesting a hug. Yea, that’s not gonna happen.

I can tell you, that when it comes to engaging with someone who has the social grace of an ax murderer at a packed insurance seminar, the encounter is less than ideal — one you would avoid at all costs.

True to past experiences and memory, his rapid-fire faux pleasantries and inappropriate comments, came at me like a runaway freight train with an unrestrained lack of nuance. It brought me right back to those holiday dinners; just waiting for his racist air assault to pass overhead.

Everyone has a relative or peripheral “hanger-on” that the rest of the family considers the “project” or “black sheep.” This is the person who is often invited to social events but kept at arm's length or left in the corner for fear their social impotence could shift the tide of a good time.

This was Norm in a nutshell.

The more I write about past racial encounters the more it shocks even me, that what I’ve experienced, was truly shit personified for a young Black male trying to navigate the first act of his life. Imagine having to justify your existence or constantly field someone’s lust for practicing racial discrimination simply because it amused them. These are the experiences that have shaped how I approached my social interactions later in life. Norm was my frame of reference — racists who disguised themselves as a wolf in sheep’s clothing and waiting to be entertained by the singing minstrel at seat three.

When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time. — Maya Angelou

Thank you for reading!

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