I’m Not a Racist

My daughter who is in college came home recently and told me about a discussion she and another white woman and a black woman had. They were talking about racism. She told them that I (me) consider myself a racist. Then she explained that what I meant by that was that I was sick and tired of (especially) black people labeling all white people as racists. I’m tired of hearing that the white person got the job, we live in low income because we can’t get work, we get blamed for this and that. Buck-up! I say.

You want to talk about favoritism? I’m unemployed by choice and live on state money. I can’t tell you how people look down on me for this decision. I’m lazy, I’m working the system, I should get a job… I don’t have a job, and this is the other thing, I have a mental illness. Oooohhh no one wants to know some with a mental illness. In fact I have Bipolar Disorder. Watch out! I might murder you.

The black woman in the group had never considered someone hating the way blacks practice reverse racism is a racist. She was amazed. When I voice my opinion black people with me immediately consider me racist. Read the definitions below:

Racism is the belief that some races are just plain superior (physically, intellectually, or culturally) to others and therefore have a right to dominate them. Pshaw.

Racism is the belief that race accounts for differences in human character or ability and that a particular race is superior to others. It is discrimination or prejudice based on race. It is hatred or intolerance of another race or other races.

I’m not a racist. My daughter says I’m a “stupid-ist.”

A bigot is a person who completely intolerant of any differing creed, belief, or opinion.

So I can say with certainty that I’m not a bigot.

Discontent… let’s consider it. It means not to be content; dissatisfied, discontented, lack of content, displeased.

That’s what I am. Frustration bred by the misassumptions of others…

I guess I’m not a racist after all. I’m just discontentedly pissed off.

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