Why is disagreeing with President Obama 'Racist'?'

I'm offended.

Here I am, a White Middle Aged American Male, and persons who feel that they have power over me make it plain that, since I deign to disagree with President Obama, I am a "Racist."

Never mind the fact that these persons don't know me from Adam, or even Eve. Never mind that I grew up with persons of all sorts of origins, learned with and FROM them, debated them, played with them, worked with them and in adult life, partied with and even served them, as a pastor & counselor. These persons look at me and my opinions and commentary, and judge me to be "Racist" because I'm a White Male.

These "powerful persons," the same ones who make no secret that they went out of their way to avoid being in Washington last weekend, call me a "Racist" because I have the temerity to disagree with them.

Let me be clear.

If I were to be a "Racist," I certainly wouldn't have opposed President Obama. I would be laying low, waiting for the failure that will inevitably come if Government Single Payer Insurance is instituted. I won't belabor this assertion, since anyone who honestly looks around will be able to see what works and what won't work, and for whom every policy decision works.  I can simply say that I'd be quietly biding my time, instead of calling out to the "Opposition" to simply tell the Truth.

I want Mr. Obama to be a successful President. I believe that, as all successful Presidents before him, he will succeed through  doing what is right, and by following the Constitution. We simply disagree about which management philosophy is right, and what the Constitution actually says.

If I were a "Racist," I wouldn't be standing carrying a sign under the burning sun, alongside persons who make their living picking tomatoes or riding tractors. I wouldn't have opened my home and heart to strangers who needed someone to care, or a Pastor to counsel with.

If I were a "Racist," I'd simply not care.


But, I do care. I care because I spent four days in the sweltering summer of 1965 cowering under my Aunts dining room table, because we were only 3 miles from where the Watts Riots were taking place. I still remember with tears how after those four days were over, we crept out, crossed Firestone Blvd. to the Supermarket, only to find the doors chained from the inside. I still remember the relief on the clerks faces when they saw that it was just my Aunt and some little kids. My Aunt still talks about the fear that her friends felt, and how they went back to their teaching jobs with fear and trepidation, and how she felt when her students said they would have defended her life with their own.
And the memory still brings tears to my eyes.

I care because I was Mentored and loved by my teacher, Mary Simpson, at the Fresno State Laboratory School. I didn't know or care what color Mary was, she taught me & loved me like I was her own child, and she was a great friend to my mother. I especially remember one very stormy day when I was afraid, and my Mom was very late & Mary stayed just to make sure I was safe. I miss her.

I care because I went to school with some of the Curry kids, and had the privilege of looking up to Dr. & Mrs. Curry. The Curry's were community leaders, persons who did their best to always look past color or division, to help others to grow and learn. I remember their grace & dignity, and miss them, too.

I remember how it felt to be an awkward, nerdy, gentle 15 year old "churchboy" who, while walking across the Madera High School campus, had his bike security chain jerked out of his hand, only to be thrashed with it while his assailant laughed and taunted him. I remember how my Mother begged me not to press charges, because she would be subjected to reprisals at her job. I remember counseling with my Priest, who said that the best thing was to simply forgive my assailant, for he would certainly come to a poor end. It was good counsel, and I did just that.

I remember mi Papi, who lived next door and raised 8 kids of his own, and helped raise me. I remember how he was always proud to take us with the Family to pick crops during the summertime, and how he laughed when the "vatos" who thought I was a gringo gave me hot peppers, thinking I would gag or something. I smiled and ate every one, and Papi laughed.

I remember my friend Justino, who drove the school bus and was proud to be a School Janitor. He stood up for me when other kids would make fun because I moved slowly and my hands shook. He never looked down on me, nor did he coddle me. And I remember that day, a horrible day, that I came down with the Flu, and on the way to the School Nurse's office, I collapsed. The only reason I wasn't hurt was Justino, who happened to be passing and caught me before I hit the *very* hard floor.
I remember how he seemed embarrassed when my Mom thanked him after I got out of the Hospital and came back to School. He taught me modesty & grace, and most importantly, how to be a good friend. Remembering him, and how he smiled with pride when I graduated from Jr. High, still bring me tears.

I still remember my High School Drivers Ed teacher, Mr. F.
He was one of my great role models, along with my Sociology instructor and Horticulture instructor. Mr. F would, on the first day of class, walk the aisles and toss copies of the Highway Patrolman magazine on our desks. We then had to look and read each page, and write a comment for each, then write a report on the whole issue. The magazines were filled with accident reports and pictures, with little or no censoring of the bloody details. We saw what happens to bad drivers and drunks. We saw what happens when people are irresponsible or sloppy.

These are just a few of the persons who shaped my view of what matters. What matters to me is that these persons never shirked what they took on as a duty to me. What matters to me is that they taught personal responsibility.

What didn't matter to the good examples in my life was what color I was. I was a child , taught to be loving and trusting by a dedicated, loving mother.

The color of skin, or for that matter, the physical characteristics of the person, didn't matter. Who they were on the outside did not matter. The person they showed they were inside was what always mattered.

Period.

I believe that I must discern a mans nature by what he says. Before today, I'd always tried my best to believe that, no matter how crappy a manager Mr. Carter was when he was in office, he was a man of good will. I no longer believe it in any way. He's just another self serving, mealy-mouthed Politician.
He has proven to be a man without wisdom.

And I am offended.