Here in America we are a little bit of everything and yet you still get people who want to know what your ancestry is. They have a select group of undesirable people they won’t associate with and it changes from year to year depending on the circumstances and who we are at war with.
Back in the 80’s, you know back in the old days before cell phones, we moved out to the country because I had this big stupid puppy I found in the middle of the road and was expecting a wild child and thought the rural U S of A would be a better place to raise a boy and a dog.
Some of y’all are old enough to remember or at least maybe you learned in school about the Iran situation in which they took a group of Americans hostage. Of course everyone was against Iranians and anyone who remotely looked like their ancestors came from Iran were on the “do not associate list”.
The only Iranian person I ever knew was a guy I worked with and he was one of the nicest people you would ever meet. He was divorced from a white woman raising two white girls that weren’t even his kids. He adopted them and when he and the Mrs. separated the girls wanted to stay with him. He was always on his cell phone with one of them or his momma back in Iran. Not sure about his husband credentials, but as far as I could tell he was a good daddy and son.
After my son was a few months old I thought I’d go meet some of my neighbors since none of them had introduced themselves to me, unless of course you count the man across the street who shot my dog, but that’s another blog.
There was a woman down the way who looked close to my age. So I thought I would try her house first.
The first words out of her mouth when she answered the door were, “Oh, you’re the one married to that Iranian.” I kid you not.
I go, “What?”
She says, “Isn’t your husband an Iranian?”
“Oh, that’s a relief, you know my husband said he looked Mexican, but I thought he looked Iranian. You can’t be too careful these days.”
What the hell? Did she think we moved in to take them hostage?
After that he shaved his mustache and never grew another one. Thank goodness Native Americans weren’t on the “do not associate” list.
Every once in a while people will ask my oldest or me what nationality he is. They never question my youngest son because he looks white (ssh, he’s the milkman’s kid), but they are all very curious about Nicholas. “What is his daddy?”
Uh… a man? At least that’s what he told me but for all I know he could be a Martian. You know I hear they have been invading our planet unbeknownst to us. I could be sleeping with an alien. I’m pretty sure I’ve been probed a few times.
The Doors-Wild Child: