When clothes are just…clothes

Growing up, I lived with a family that practiced equality.  We were taught to be kind to all people and to not discriminate against people based on their color, social status, health status, or any other differentiator.  The key word here is practice.  When trying to practice equality, it can be difficult to recognize when you aren’t being equanimous. Sometimes our prejudices can be more subtle. 

When I was 11, I needed a pair of dress shoes.  My dad took me to the shoe store.  He was pretty fashion-blind.  He didn’t care what I wanted as long as I liked it.  I picked a pair of platform sandals.  They had suede around the platform.  They were maroon-colored.  I was so thrilled.  These shoes would help me “fit in” with my preteen community.  I might even become popular wearing these shoes.  Interestingly enough, other family members didn’t have the same opinion of my shoes.  One of my family members exclaimed, “You look like a Puerto Rican!”  Another family member saw them and said, “You look like a puta (the Spanish word for prostitute).”  Somehow my family saw these sandals as a way to share their racist and sexualized feelings.  What?  My kind and non-discriminating family did what?  Well, sometimes our prejudices are more nuanced than we like to believe.  I was able to keep the sandals in spite of my family’s feelings about the shoes.  I wore them to school the next Monday.  The girls in my class loved them.  One of the most popular girls came up and complimented me on the shoes.  She shared a story of how her mom wouldn’t let her get a pair of shoes she really wanted.  I loved being popular.  The commercialism had me. 

Recently, the story of the sandals came back to me when I was in a discussion about how we assign prejudicial labels to people and things without an awareness of what we are doing.  I thought back to those sandals.  I didn’t think about the popularity they brought me.  Instead I thought about the comments my family made about me when I wore the sandals.  I thought about about the flippancy of the remarks.  How they were actually offensive.  I wondered if my family knew.

In my studies of Buddhism, I believe my self-awareness has grown.  In the past, it might have been more of a small bubble living in the back of my mind.  Now, through mindfulness and meditation, my self-awareness has grown to be a nice-sized globe closer to the front of my mind.  I reminisced about that past experience with the sandals and thought, “Hmmm.  I believe I’m more self-aware than those folks in my past were.  My Buddhism has made me a better person.”  While it’s probably true -I probably am becoming a better human through Buddhism - I should probably hold onto my humility before I declare myself a “better person” than anyone else.

The other day, my local son came to visit me.  We were planning to go out to dinner.  He’s a pretty buff guy; he likes to lift weights.  He also chooses to shave his head.  He is losing his hair.  Rather than try to style it in a way that hides his hair loss, he just shaves it all off.  Between his muscly physique and his bald head, I think he looks pretty formidable.  Wow!  Did you hear that?  You might think that was a judgement.

Anyway, back to the other day.  My son walked in the house.  His head was freshly shaved and he was wearing a black shiny t-shirt.  He had a heavy chained necklace on.  He a wore shorts with a bright colored pattern on them. His feet donned brand-new fancy sneakers.  I looked at him, and I didn’t comment.  I knew it would be inappropriate for me to cast judgement on his look.  But in my head the words were flying.  “What is he thinking?  Does he want people to think he is a gang member?  A drug dealer?  A rapper?  Who dresses like that?”

Oh man.  Really?  What would my “woke” self say hearing that I used words like that to describe my son?  What would my “woke” self say hearing that I used those words in a derogatory way to describe anyone?  I caught myself thinking those words (thank you mindfulness).

I found myself looking at my son throughout the dinner.  I thought, “this is your son.  This clothing is how he wants to dress himself.  It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.  It matters what you think.  Can you see him for who he is?  He is your son.”

I would like to say that by the end of the evening all I saw was the same kid who shows up in khaki shorts and t-shirts.  The one who seems to live in baseball caps.  Still, I was a little jarred every time I looked up at him.  

I am grateful to say I was aware.  That was a start.  And I’m being compassionate with myself.  I’m learning that I can’t control who my son is and what he wears.  I can only control my reaction to it.  I think my son may be a litmus test for me.  A way to learn to accept everyone and not judge them based on what they initially look like.  Thank you, son.