A funny name for a blog. We all know what nature and nurture are, but what about nomenclature. It's a cool word really, or maybe it just sounds cool. Nomenclature is defined as "a system or set of terms or symbols especially in a particular science, discipline, or art". In this blog I will use nomenclature in exchange of cliché. Not only because it rhymes, but because a cliché is a set of sayings derived from past generations and communities (aka a discipline of sorts). On to the more entertaining and educational stuff.
It's no secret that I am in a biracial relationship with an extraordinarily funny, energetic and delightful black man. I love him to pieces, and he me. Good thing. Keep reading. I've also learned that much stress and uncomfortableness in a relationship can be pacified or put to rest through the gentle use of comedy. Better watch out though, it has its faults [as the slippery slope can lead to sarcasm, which is not so funny]. For the benefit of all my white friends, I'll take one on the chin for you today:
As is our custom sometimes, we make lunch the night before. Last night I put together two very delicious looking salads (complete with dressing on the side) and stuck them in the fridge. This morning, as we were getting ready for work, I went downstairs to retrieve our coffee from our friend and butler, Mr. Coffee. I took the salads from the fridge and set them on the counter. Because I am ever so concerned about my love eating a good healthy meal, I set him out a banana as well. No drink. Did I mention no drink? I brought our coffee back upstairs as we both began our separate time of getting ready for the day. When it was time for him to go, he blessed me with my customary kiss and hug, and a few kind words to see me off. Down the stairs and into the kitchen he went. As he picked up his lunch and strolled toward the door, he said in jest, "What, no drink? What kind of hotel service is this anyway?" From the second floor I chuckled, while bopping over the banister, "You'd gripe if I hung you with a brand new rope!" (Ok, white people, pay attention). He laughed and then ever so gently told me this is not a phrase a person in a relationship with a black man should make. In my mind, it was comic relief. Thankfully he knows my heart. In his usual passionate but humble way, he reminded me of the history of Blacks and hangings. He gave me some very good food for thought. So, I began thinking. This has happened a few times over the past few years and I'm thankful he has a way of gently telling me that my thoughts and words come from a place in history that was not kind to Black folk. Like the origin of the word picnic, but that's a blog for another day.
Clichés are cute little sayings that are rooted in generations of conversations passed down through our family and culture's lineage. Generally, they mean no harm, have almost always stood the test of time, and oftentimes are funny. When I think about this particular cliché, it seems harmless to say. As I thought about what my honey told me concerning Black History and hangings, in that light, it's not so funny. That got me thinking about my upbringing, both nature and nurture. I grew up in white suburbia. Sure, I had friend groups of different racial backgrounds, but I never thought of myself as privileged in any way. To that end, I never thought of being hung in the town square either. Thinking about it though brings a new sensitivity and awareness to my mind. It causes me to pause and ponder. If you're white, have you ever stopped to consider yourself privileged? Just for being white? I know I haven't, I've been white my entire life and haven't really thought about being any different. I don't see myself as privileged, but perhaps I am. I also don't see myself as racially charged. But, perhaps I'm racially passive aggressive without my knowing it.
I can't be held accountable for what I don't know, none of us can. Being genuinely ignorant is neither a sin nor a crime. But should I, as a willfully growing and developing human being, be held accountable for what I do know? Because now, I do know that this cute little funny cliché is only funny when said to a white person. (And now, for me, it's not funny). I was challenged to ask myself if I've ever heard any other ethnic group use that joke (cliché). No. I haven't. I've never thought about that before. What's the message I'm aiming to share today? Well, it's simple, it's never to late to learn what life is about. Dig deeper into your own mind and heart. Dig deeper into your family traditions and explore why we do and say and believe the things we do. Not that any of them are wrong, but perhaps they are. With my new sense of awareness, I'll make a decided attempt to remove this cliché from my vocabulary and share this new awareness with my children.
That seems like a proactive way to change myself and my community. And thank you honey, for your gentle approach. We both grew today, you in your giving [of information] and me in my receiving [of information]. Now, I pass it on to you, my readers. Challenge yourself to make advancements in yourself, your family and your community. The only way to grow through it is to go through it. Safe travels.
