Privilege

I grew up privileged.

Were we rich? No, but we were not poor either. I grew up as a white, middle class Christian in the suburbs of Canada. My parents were married until my father’s death.

I don’t know what it feels like to be persecuted because I’m Jewish, or Muslim, or any other religion. I don’t know what it feels like to be judged because we were too poor to afford housing, water, heat, food, clothes, etc. I don’t know what it feels like to be physically, mentally, or sexually abused. I don’t know what it feels like to grow up in the home of a single parent. I don’t know what it feels like to have to watch my back my entire life because the colour of my skin is darker than someone else’s.

I don’t know.

I cannot put myself in the shoes of any human on this planet that has. I can’t even begin to imagine how any of that feels.

Because I grew up privileged.

Luckily for me my parents taught me that. They made me work for everything I got as a child. They made me learn that not everyone was as fortunate as we were. They showed me how to be compassionate and how to love everyone.

My mother used to sell Mary Kay. She would donate her time to a program called Look Good, Feel Better where they would give women fighting cancer make overs. She taught me how to give.

My father was the most honest, giving man I have ever met. Without question if you needed help, even in the middle of the night, he would help you. As a mechanic he would often trade his services for goods if someone couldn’t afford the required maintenance or repairs. He taught me compassion.

My parents taught me people of all shapes, sizes, religions, colours, and backgrounds matter. They taught me to find the good in everyone.

My heart breaks for all of those in this world who are afraid to call for help because the help might be worse than the problem they find themselves in. I have never felt as though I can’t approach a stranger for help for the fear I may be perceived as a threat.

For all of you who have, I see you.

I am sorry.

I am sorry you have a reason to be afraid. I am sorry you can’t walk down the street without watching your back. I am sorry you are arrested for reporting the same news as your white colleagues that were not. I am sorry you can’t go for a jog without the fear of being killed. I am sorry you don’t know if your next encounter with the police, for any reason, may be your last breath.

I am sorry.

I read a book explaining white privilege to those who don’t understand. It told of a true story where two young women with the same credit history, same job history, and same age apply for an apartment around the same time. One of the applicants is black and the other white. The black applicant, who applied first, was told she was too risky for the landlord to take a chance on her. The white applicant, who would not have had the opportunity if the black woman was given a chance, was offered the apartment because she “looked” honest. That passage made me angry.

If you don’t realise you are privileged based on your skin colour, you aren’t watching what is happening around you. I know I am privileged.

Stop the ignorance.

Stop the hate.

Stop the brutality.

#BlackLivesMatter