Minding our own business

[vaneramos]

Photo: a candid shot of me, taken yesterday by Marian.

~~~~~~~~~~

Marian and I were sitting on the Roncesvalles streetcar yesterday waiting for it to pull out of the station when a conversation arose outside the front door, loud enough for everyone inside to hear. Presently, a breathless woman boarded: middle-aged and light-skinned with bright orange hair and a small, nervous dog in her arms. Behind her she left a smiling, dark-skinned woman standing on the platform. Apparently the latter had complimented the dog's white fur and asked whether its was dyed, too.

The owner was nonplussed. "My dog is white," she said, sitting down near the front. "Why would I dye his hair that way?"

Halfway back, a black man leaned forward in his seat and said to her, "Tell that woman to mind her own business."

But the woman on the platform didn't hear, smiling jovially as she turned away. The passengers settled once more into afternoon silence as we pushed onto Roncesvalles Avenue and headed south. A few blocks later Marian and I stood up to disembark at Queen Street. The woman with her dog had risen ahead of us, still flustered.

"I have a dog at home with hair dyed pink," she said to me. "If I had brought Daisy, I wonder how that woman would have freaked, since she freaked over my white dog."

Marian and I only exchanged glances, struggling to contain our mirth over the image of a pink poodle.

We disembarked and crossed the street behind two other passengers to transfer to the Queen Street car. Many routes diverge from that intersection, and I wasn't certain which one we should take. We waited a few minutes in a windswept shelter until a car labelled "Saint Clair" pulled out of a terminal up the street and headed toward us.

I turned to the woman standing closest to me, the same way I would to any stranger, and said, "Does that streetcar go up Queen?"

This woman had sat silently during the incident at the station. She didn't answer me now. With the traffic passing, I thought perhaps she hadn't heard me, so I repeated the question.

She had heard me alright. As the streetcar passed us she answered: "You see that driver there?" She didn't even look in my direction. "You ask him."

My mistake was instantly obvious: I had tried to cross a racial barrier. If I had encountered homophobia in such a way, I would have felt angry. Instead, I felt sickness in the bottom of my stomach. I could imagine her thinking. What right had I to speak to her? Why should she help me?

I come from a small city—a university town that's multicultural in its own right—where strangers say hello in the park, where no one would hesitate to ask or give directions or the time. People here in cultural dress are usually educated and friendly. Even if they were not, I would consider them equals. The woman in the bus shelter didn't see things that way, or else she could see only far enough to mind her own business. I didn't blame her for a moment.

But I felt doubly thankful for the remarkable woman who spoke to Marian at the art gallery on Sunday afternoon. She saved me from growing a little more cynical, and reminded me that while some people mind the business of building and tending barriers, others are just as busy crossing them.

Comments

[ex-nashobabe711.livejournal.com]

You are TOTALLY adorable! Forgive this moment of shallowness -- I needed the distraction.

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

And being home alone again, I can use the attention. ;-)

[ex-nashobabe711.livejournal.com]

It now looks like I will be home alone ALL WINTER myself ...

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

So I gathered from your recent posts. It sounds like an awesome transition lies ahead of you. I'm not surprised you're feeling a little nervous.

I'm in the middle of National Novel Writing Month, writing a 50,000 word novel during the month of November. And I'm on a collision course with my own past: the main character is an evangelical Christian getting involved in the ex-gay movement, and his whole life will unravel before the end. I am still here, just very busy and absorbed for a few weeks.

[ex-nashobabe711.livejournal.com]

I have been following your reports from the front as you progress with your writing. And I have wanted to drop a few words along the way... my busy-ness has been distracting me from doing so. Even now I am avoiding grading papers and preparing next week's lectures because I succumbed to being distracted.

I have several novels in me, and hope to start writing fiction in earnest soon. The childhood sex abuse/incest work is a primary subject. My experiences at Mount Homophobia is another.

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

Yeah, that's heavy stuff. Several years ago I started to write a piece of fiction which started off with an incident of sexual assault, incest, but I'm fortunate to be able to say I had to use my imagination and extrapolate on other childhood experiences.

I'm surprised at how much I'm enjoying the current writing project. In fact, it's helping me understand and forgive the person I used to be.

[ciddyguy.livejournal.com]

Reading your post, I found myself noticing the starkness of how people are when confronted with someone of a different race or culture. Some will cross the divide and say hello etc and others will not.

I find it rather depressing and sad that some people can't see beyond the their own racial etc divide and will not converse with someone who isn't the same as them. I think it shows how narrow their thinking is, rather than growing outward, it's shutting oneself off from others that are different.

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

Yes, it is sad.

[art-thirst.livejournal.com]

That doesn't surprise me one bit. I'm afraid that after our election there will be more of the 60s attitude around. Not 60s as in hippies and having a good time but, 60s racial and ethnic tension now combined with homophobia and Christian fanaticism. {{{Van}}}

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

I was a little boy in the back of my parents car riding home from Deerborn Michigan the night riots broke out in Detroit. Crossing the Ambassador Bridge, we saw the sky lit up but passed unscathed and didn't find out what had happened until the next day. I grew up a few miles from that but was so sheltered and naive. It seemed like what happened there had nothing to do with us on the Windsor side. But mine was a privileged child's point of view. I wonder how much American policies and racism affected Canadians then, and how it will affect us now.

[leafshimmer.livejournal.com]

Great photo. I can see Marian's got a trace of her Dad's way of looking at people and things.

hugs, Shimmer

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

Hehe, she has her own way. Believe me. :-)

Hugs.

Re: Talking to strangers can be a dangerous thing...but don't take it personally.

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

Our society tends to teach children the maxim: "Never talk to strangers." But I don't agree with that. It's better to avoid dangerous situations and develop a good sense of intuition about people. Marian tells me she sometimes strikes up conversations with strangers, but she also seems to have a good sense about whether people are behaving appropriately or not, so I don't worry much about her getting into trouble. I believe our communities would be healthier if we weren't generally so fearful of people on the street. Besides, I would rather have an adventurous approach to making new acquaintances.

As for that Divide, I agree that it is taught.

[artricia.livejournal.com]

Have I mentioned that I really like these new posts? I like the format of the inlaid picture with text. I admit I've been skimming a lot -- I've been busy -- but the pictures always make me happy. I guess I've done a 180 since my original test-loving lj attitude.

Anyway . . . the pink poodle story reminded me of how, when I was a kid, my best friend thought that we used to give our dog hom permanents because she had wavy fur.

Heck, it's hard enough to give the dog a bath.

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

Thanks, I'm glad you like the format. It has been working well for me in many ways. And I understand the skimming; I often resort to it, too.

In hindsight I wonder whether that woman invented Daisy to make a point. I can't imagine dyeing a dog, either.

[detailbear.livejournal.com]

Unfortunately, she probably wasn't.

Although pink dogs are so 2003! ;-)

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

How embarrassing for the dog! :-)