I Wonder if Casper the Friendly Ghost preferred Xzibit or Busta Rhymes

If it is true that simplicity is elegance, then it is time to pop the champagne and watch an Audrey Hepburn movie because this one’s pretty simple: After I was born, I was a baby. Unless you are now crumpled in a ball and rocking in the fetal position (ironic, huh?) after reading such a painfully obvious statement, we can examine what it means and why I said it. The real message sent with the phrase “I was a baby” does not come from what is written, but rather what is left unsaid. I did not write that I was a baby who leaned Democrat, resented Jane Austen or avoided green vegetables like the bubonic plague. I did not describe myself as uncoordinated, troublesome or messy. I was just a baby- a baby boy if you want to push it. One must decide between pink bonnets and blue sweaters at some point, and unavoidable anatomical differences may as well settle the dispute. But gender aside, babies are just babies- it is that simple. They eat and poop and play and not much else. And then they inevitably grow up. I know I certainly did- whether or not it always seems that way is a matter for another post. The fact is, though, that at some point we do take on characteristics that define who we are, characteristics beyond our “babyishness” and the pink or blue of our wardrobes.

One such characteristic, for me at least, is my race- I am white bordering on translucent. Think Casper with more hair. And I was never more aware of the color of my skin than this past weekend, driving with my sister through middle class suburbia while she blared T-Pain’s “Buy you a drink.” As the bass thumped along with the lyrics,

I Know The Club Close At 3

Whats The Chance A You Rollin Wit Me

Back To The Crib

Show You How I Live

Lets Get Drunk

Forget What We Did...

We In The Bed Like

Ooh Ooh Ohh, Ooh OohWe

In The Bed Like

Ooh Ooh Ooh, Ooh Ooh

I found myself thinking how strange everything seemed. Something about that music playing in that car (our Ford Escape may as well have been a ’94 station wagon) in that particular town stood out for me. It felt like such a surreal moment. The experience reminded me of something I saw on television a few days ago. I caught about ten minutes of some old MAD TV episode and they had a live musical performance featuring Method Man, Redman and a bunch of other rap artists I wasn’t hip enough to recognize. What made it memorable was the crowd. The show just had their studio audience- no more than 50 people and almost all of them white- cheering along. I have never seen a group of people look more uncomfortable or out of place in my entire life. Now I am not trying to pull a Tom Tancredo here and speak out against the perils of multiculturalism. Quite the contrary, I love seeing people from different backgrounds come together- even when the end result is as awkward as a bunch of middle-aged white people at a Method Man concert. I’m sure the spectators and the performers are all better off for the experience; plus I get the added benefit of having been able to watch the interaction play out on national television. God bless diversity, American media, and our Ford Escape (I really do love that car.)


Some other notes:
-While writing this post, I heard a few songs I liked, including Spymob’s “National Holiday” and The Districts’ “It’s Not Like Everyone’s My Friend.” Check them out.

-Yes, this was one of my high school math teachers: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rAw8thcZsgU