“Bad intentions aren’t a prerequisite for something to be considered a #microaggression.”
Funny how our own words and lessons can come back to tap us on the shoulder.
Let me explain.
2/ All of our luggage was clustered near the front porch. It was about five minutes to the hour that we had to be fully vacated from the house that we’d rented for spring break.
Everyone was scrambling about and making sure we had everything after a lazy week of relaxing.
Yup.
3/ The hatch was up on the back of my car and my teen son was loading in bags with me.
That’s when I noticed a gentleman walking toward me from what appeared to be a truck filled with cleaning items. I could see that he was accompanied by some others gathering what they’d need.
4/ Him: “Hello there!”
He surveyed where we were in our checkout process. Then he gestured toward the door to see if it was okay for them to get started on cleaning the property.
I vigorously nodded.
Me: “Hola! Esta bien!” *I waved my hand* “Nos vamos!”
He nodded.
5/ I returned to packing the car when I noticed my son glaring at me.
Me: “What?”
Son: *shaking his head*
Me: *furrowing my brow* “What?”
He raised his eyebrows, sighed, and returned to lifting bags.
Me: “I know. My Spanish is bad.”
He stopped again.
6/ Son: “Mom? He greeted you in English.”
Me: “Wait. What?”
Son: “Mom, you just—“
He stopped talking when the cleaning team came closer to us. They had assembled everything they needed and seemed to have a well-organized system.
Son: “Sir, are we in your way?”
7/ Him: “Nope, you’re fine. We’re a little early so just wanted to make sure it was okay on your end.”
I felt my face burning.
He stepped aside to let the other members of his team come in. All of whom greeted us with polite nods as they got down to business.
Yup.
8/ From the corner of my eye, I saw that the truck had a familiar emblem painted on the side. I realize that all week I’d seen them working all around the very property we were on.
From the open door, I could hear them speaking to one another in Spanish.
I looked at my son.
9/ Son: “Mom, just because he’s bilingual and is speaking Spanish with his team doesn’t mean he can’t speak English. It’s like the #singlestory thing you had me watch that time.”
*silence*
Son: “You looked at him and assigned him a single story.”
10/ Son: “And I’m calling you out on it because this is what you always say people need to do. Call—”
Me: “Call bullshit.”
*laughter*
Son: “You said it, not me.”
Me: *thinking* “Son? What do you think my #singlestory was?”
He snorted. Then he looked around the porch again.
11/ Son: “Here’s the deal, Mom. When we got here y’all sat us all down and gave us #TheTalk for the millionth time. And it’s to protect us from what can happen to us as Black men, right?”
Me: *listening*
Son: “You want us safe from the #singlestory people have when they see us.”
12/ Son: “But you low key sized dude up when you saw him. I mean, you jumped to assuming he didn’t speak English. And like, even if you meant well, it still was kind of a . . .what’s that thing you always talk about?”
Me: “Microaggression.”
He closed the hatch and pointed at me.
13/ Son: “Plus your Spanish is super suspect and cringy, Mom.”
*laughter*
And with that, my almost 16 year old son reached for his cell phone and commenced to ignoring me again.
And the cleaning team manager commenced to ignoring me, too.
14/ Though he did direct a couple of small questions to my son. Not me.
Yup.
It’s funny. I was equal parts mortified and proud of that exchange with my son.
Wait. I take that back.
Mostly, I was proud. Proud that my son was an upstander. But also for a chance to do better.
15/ I’ll also add that it was pretty cool to know that our kids are actually paying attention to us.
Well. Mostly cool.
Ha.
My intention was, I thought, to make that man feel seen. But my son was right. I allowed my #bias to create a #singlestory narrative.
It’s true.
16/ “Bad intentions aren’t a prerequisite for something to be considered a microaggression.”
Ain’t that the truth.
Never think the *air quotes* experts have this all mastered.
They don’t.
In fact, beware of those who suggest that they do.
Mmm hmmm.
17/ And before someone says: “Maybe he was Spanish-speaking only” — the issue is. . . maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he spoke English, too.
And French.
And Portuguese.
And Mandarin.
Right?
18/
Just like maybe my Black sons and their friends with their knotty afros and easy African-American vernacular aren’t suspects.
Me: “Couple more updates—so I spoke our social worker. We’ve got some ways to help.”
You: *staring at me*
Me: “Also the pharmacist worked the stuff out with your insulin pen. They’ll be right over to help with that. Oh! And I found the pill box.”
*silence*
2/
Me: "You okay?"
You: "Yeah. I’m good.”
Me: "Okay. I thought maybe something was wrong.”
You fixed your eyes on me and shook your head. Hard.
Me: “What?”
You: *sigh* "I'm just tripping, that’s all."
Me: *squinting* "Tripping off of what?"
3/ You: "I was just thinking. . like every time I see y'all . . .everybody be hustling to help me. Almost like y’all really, truly give a shit about whether I live or die."
*silence*
I placed the pill container on the tray table and sat down.
1/ My patient died the other day. One often described as “cantankerous" and known for his legendary cuss-outs and kick-outs from his room.
And one who was sick.
"Cantankerous" by definition is:
bad-tempered
argumentative
uncooperative
A bad rap if you're a patient.
Yup.
2/ On my first day meeting him he told me to go away. Let me know he didn’t give a damn about me “needing to take a look” or “just give a quick listen.”
I explained that I was the senior doctor and he sucked his teeth hard. Then sighed and quickly had a comeback.
Mmm hmm.
3/ Him: “Well, how ‘bout you carry your 'senior doctor' self down to the cafeteria and talk to them 'bout my food!”
Me: “What’s wrong with your food?”
Him: *glaring* “What’s not?” He lifted the top on the plate and slammed it back down.
1/ I was talking to this person who said something that made me uncomfortable. The kind of thing that is best to think in your head instead of saying out loud.
Wait. I take that back.
I'm glad they said it out loud. Because sometimes it's good to know how people feel.
Yup.
2/ Them: "If I see one more article or hear 1 more presentation or podcast on anything related to racism or diversity, I'm going to pluck out my eyeballs."
They laughed when they said that. And me, who felt sort of ambushed by hearing this statement spoken out loud, just froze.
3/ Them: "Every journal. Every conference. Like, give me a break."
Me: *squinting* "Uuuuhhh. . . "
Them: "But come on. . .you have to admit that it's seriously out of control."
I still didn't know what to say.
I awkwardly stared and shrugged. As they continued to talk.
RN1: “I’ve known her since she was carrying them babies!”
RN2: “I’ve known her since she had all black hair and was fresh out of residency!”
*laughter*
Me: *patting my hair* “Well, if she knew me pre-grey, we have a winner for sure.”
We all laughed again.
2/ For me, they’d both become woven into the fabric of the Grady I know and love. Experienced nurses who’d already been around the block a few times before I even arrived back in 2001.
I was always happy to see them.
Always.
3/ RN1: “You have a patient here?”
Me: “Yes, ma’am.”
RN2: “Yeah, that’s my patient today.”
Me: *pretending to leave* “Oh, YOU have my patient? I’m good then.”
*laughter*
Even with her caramel complexion, her eyes told me that she was blushing from the compliment. I smiled.
That’s what you said when I asked your thoughts on getting a #COVIDVaccine. We both laughed—but the way you paused, then returned to your industrious task of clearing crumbs from the table made me know you weren’t joking.
Nope.
2/ I lifted my laptop on cue as your hand swept under it quickly and collected the crusty bread remnants into your other cupped hand.
Me: “You sound serious. Are you?”
You: *shrug* “Serious enough.”
I nodded slowly and tightened the drawstring on my hoodie.
3/ It was a cold day for outdoor dining—especially of the solo nerdy type. But seeing newly arranged and spaced tables thrust along the sides of some my favorite ATL eateries made me happy and willing to brave the chill for a slice of normalcy.
There was this Grady elder who'd been admitted to my team. His issue was quickly sorted out and the very next morning he was ready for discharge.
Nothing about his problems were complicated. At all.
Nope.
2/ We didn't see him as a team on rounds that day. Things were so straightforward that I'd agreed to see him on my own. He didn't have many questions when I got to the end of the encounter. And so. I reached for his hand and wished him well.
And that was that.
3/ I realized that I hadn't gotten to know him beyond his medical concerns. So decided to right that wrong.
Yup.
This gentleman was pretty reserved. He'd already packed up his belongings and had his cell phone in his hand. And didn't seem up for smalltalk.