Joey Moncada
Chandler, AZ
I grew up in the South during the era of busing. My parents never showed any hint of discrimination against anyone. I was taught, and believed, from my earliest days that all people are equal in the eyes of God, that everyone has the same intrinsic potential and worth. But I also remember keenly the black man who worked my grandparents’ farm for years, but was not allowed into the house. I remember that we had only two black families in our neighborhood. I remember the time that a fellow student told my sister, in elementary school, that she shouldn’t be friends with a boy named Stephen, who was black. She asked my mother whether it was because Stephen was a boy, because it never occurred to her that it could be because of the color of his skin.
Though I have always had friends of a wide range of backgrounds and always believed we understand each other, really, most of the people I see socially are white and upper middle class, like me. My life is hard in some ways, but it is, I believe, easier than many people of minority backgrounds whose situations might mirror my own, save for the color of our skin. Have I worked hard at my career, my friendships, my reputation in my community? Of course, and those things are important. In the back of my mind, though, there are always questions: Am I just lucky to have been born white? Do people who aren’t judge me before they really know me because of any benefits they perceive I have just from being white? How do I bridge that gap (without being contrived or insipid)…or is that guilt really a construct, all in my head?
