What's taken for granted?

My life intersects jarringly between poverty and privilege. My parents both have graduate degrees (Dad went to Harvard Law), yet chose voluntary poverty (including food stamps for 6 months, but that’s another entry). I went to a public college-prep high school. Many of my friends (especially the single year I rowed) participated in cotillions and had to decide whether or not to have debut parties. I was gauche, awkward, and unable to afford the casual accoutrements of privilege. In 10th grade I transformed into a skate punk. My F* you attitude and thrift store clothes somehow assured a degree of popularity I’d never achieved when I tried to fit in (also another entry).

This past Saturday night those worlds collided.

One of my high school friends lives in DC with her Mom, which has allowed us to reconnect in the last three years. Jrex has come to know the family as well. We went to dinner there a year ago for my friend’s birthday. The table was filled with white DC journalists, socialites, and intellectuals. A few of them seemed to have trouble figuring out how to talk with Jrex. He’s shy, so not always the initiater, but he’ll answer any question and is happy to listen. Many times I looked across the room and saw him sitting next to someone in awkward silence. We both got the sense that despite their theories of non-prejudice, they just don’t know many minorities. My friend and her mother had no problem, just a few of the guests.

Saturday was a farewell ‘dance’ for my friend. A couple from the birthday dinner hosted it. My friend recently graduated from nursing school and is in love for the first time. She’s moving to San Francisco for her new beau (who’d flown out for the party). We loved seeing her radiance and seeing the rooms of the shabby mansion filled to overflowing with people who loved her. She’s someone who fits the cliché “not a mean bone in her body”, and she’s found a match. That part was great and not awkward in any way.

Over the years I’ve become used to hanging out with moneyed folk, learned how to handle silverware and drinks, accumulated a closet of fun dress clothes (via my MIL and the thrift store—some things don’t change). Privilege fits comfortably now, which often surprises (and worries) me. Yet it still felt strange to be surrounded by a home where privilege is so taken for granted it’s allowed to get dusty. Where there was as much tchotchke as any home filled with velvet Elvises and plastic couch covers, but collected from trips around the world rather than trips to the mall.

In three large rooms teeming with people there were four that weren’t white: an African-American nursing grad, Jrex, and a Filipino couple who were cooking and serving.

In the medical world, especially here at Hopkins, it’s easy to forget Asians are a minority! Yet in a room full of people who influence public policy, who write books, histories, and publish weekly magazines, there were few people reminding them of the privilege they take for granted. The weird thing for me has been that inside my head, I don’t fit in either, but no one knows it. Jrex has no way to blend in. I always knew I wanted to marry someone who wasn’t white. Maybe it was so the way I feel inside would at least be reflected in the ‘couple’. Comfortable, but not dusty.