I am white

I am also a woman

I am married

I am 62 years old

I am the youngest child of five girls

I am no more ashamed of being white than I am ashamed of being a woman, married, 62 or the youngest of five.

I’m not proud of any of those things, either.

Were they a toss of the dice, a lottery win, as our president terms it?   Perhaps they are.  Perhaps I’m just lucky to have been born white, the youngest, to have lived this many years, to have the love of a good man.

What part of all that should make me ashamed?  And ashamed to the point that I need to make reparations to anyone?   I didn’t choose any of it, except the married part and yeah, I chose that with all my heart.

I am tired of the term “white privilege.”   I’m tired of being told I should feel guilty because of things I can’t control.   I’m tired of people trying to put a barrier between me and my friends, and yes, I have black friends, and gay friends, and young friends, and old friends, but I don’t refer to them as “that’s so and so, my black friend” or “that’s so and so, my old friend,” I refer to them as my friends.   They have Susan privilege – they’re lucky to be my friends.   And I have the privilege of having them in my life.

That’s a side note.  I’m tired of being divided.  I’m tired of watching people tear my country apart.  Maybe we should all focus on what we have in common, and start thinking of each other as people, instead of as labels.
And no, it’s now how I “identify,” those things I listed.  Nor are they who I am.   They are parts of who I am.   And those parts together, along with others, make up the sum total of me.   I’m not ashamed of a single part.  Not the white, not the straight, not the married, not one single bit.

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