I'm Just a Crazy Middle-Aged Woman Trying to Learn Not to be a White Savior

I was sitting on the beach reading Waking UP White and Finding Myself in the Story of Race by Debby Irving. Side note--really good book and easily accessible. In one of the chapters, Irving tells the story of being at a conference by and for professionals of color. During a particular workshop, she found herself taking notes so she could be "helpful" in feedback. She had the best of intentions. It was not received in

the same vein. She writes she had gone into the fixer and comforter role she was so accustomed to playing--another way of stating it, she fell into the white savior complex.

White savior complex is complicated. It can be defined as a white person who acts to help a nonwhite person often in situations where it can be perceived (or is) for self-serving purposes. Another facet is it's helping in ways the white person believes the person or persons of color need to be helped. It's a role I

have been thinking a lot about lately. I've been considering how I have fallen into the complex, and I have been patting myself on the back about how far I've come.

Not 30 minutes later....

I glanced over to the path leading to the beach wondering when my young adult children would EVER come down. I saw two young black men with their shirts off. "I wonder why they're just sitting there and not coming down to the beach." I thought to myself. Over the next 30 minutes, I kept glancing over and thinking about all kinds of things. Here is just a sampling.

• I wonder if they don't feel welcome.
• I wonder if they're nervous about coming down where everyone is white.
• I'm going to go over and talk to them and let them know they are more than welcome on the beach.

I didn't want to make them nervous, but I really wanted them to know they were welcome and if anyone had a problem with it I would stand up for them. But I refrained even though I kept looking around at all the white people on the beach looking for anyone to do or say anything unkind, you know so I could engage with them--share my anti-racism learning.

Oh y'all, it gets worse. My young adult children did come down to the beach. They were getting settled and I looked back at the two young men on the walkway. I decided then and there I could walk over and invite them to join us or at least come down on the beach--I mean my daughter's boyfriend who is sitting right here is black--I now had visible proof I wasn't a crazy middle-aged white lady bigot. I was "officially" anti-racist--just look! As I began to rehearse my speech, I snapped out of it.

Who did I think I was? Who was I to assume they felt unwelcome? Who was I to assume they needed a white lady to escort them onto the beach? Who was I to assume they even wanted to come down on the beach? Who was I to assume that just because my daughter is dating a young black man (whom we adore) that gives me a special standing as a "woke" white woman? Who was I to assume I was finished with my work?

Fifteen minutes later Chris walked down to the beach. I asked him if he'd seen the two young men. "Oh yeah," he said, "they were on their lunch break and just hanging out. I saw them put their work shirts back on."

I didn't do it that day, but I thought about it--a lot. I did I finally stop myself because I'm learning. I'm learning how to be a better person and I'm learning how many learned behaviors I need to unlearn. 

Oh, and I will always be a crazy middle-aged white woman. (Until I'm a crazy old white woman)

A Village with Boundaries

Several weeks ago I ran into a man I know and admire (for

many reasons, but his photography--it's a step above everything) and he asked me a question, "I know you love having Charlotte (better known as The Toddler), but I have a question."  I momentarily stopped breathing dreading the question I knew was going to follow.  "But what about your priesthood?  What are you going to do? Are you ever going to return to work?  Is anyone talking to you?  Why did you resign?"  (Obviously these questions are if not a daily part of my life a weekly part--and for the record the answers are, "I'm still a priest. I don't know what I'm going to do. Yes I'm going to return to work and yes people are talking to me--some even about my future in ministry....the other is another blog)

He asked none of those questions.  Instead he said, "Are you more of a follow the rules just as her mother wants you to do or a spoil her rotten and do whatever you want?"  I stumbled through the answer, but like so many things in my life the question has remained with me.

The short answer is "both."  Do we give her more than one cookie in the afternoon?  Yep.  Do we let

her stand on our counters as long as she want asking, 'How about...?' Yep. (Sometimes even naked) But do we make her say please and thank you? Yep.  Do we let her hit us? Nope (although last week when I told her know to hitting and she cried I did have to leave the room while I teared up too.) That was the short answer.

Over the past several weeks I've been thinking about what our role is in The Toddler's life and what it should be.  I don't know how it will play out forever, but I think there are a few things that are important, crucial even--things I was taught as a young mother...things about villages and boundaries

My mind went to many episodes in our young family's lives and how so many people taught me how to know the difference--

• Aunt Gillian not allowing Sponge Bob to be watched when our children were over because she knew how much it mattered to me. (And she didn't tell my children or hers that I was the neurotic overly protective controlling Mama--she maybe should have told me.)  
• The Banse's giving Caroline 4 bowls of cereal for breakfast (they also let her sit with them in church so I didn't have to deal with the sugar high!)
• Woody looking over Boss's head for the answer from us when Boss said, "I know I'm not really old enough to play football but I think I'm tough enough, can I play?"
• Aunt Ingrid and Aunt Anne telling me on separate occasions, "SK can tell me anything and I won't tell you unless I think she's in danger." But Aunt Ingrid writing me first and sharing a letter she wanted to send SK to make sure it was okay.
• All the parents over the years who called and asked whether a particular movie was acceptable and particularly the ones who understood when we said 'no.'

There are some things that make no difference, but there are others that are plain and simply crossing boundaries, boundaries of parents' rights.  Dessert without eating dinner--no big deal; doing something that violates a moral or value the parents hold dearly--huge.  It's knowing the difference, erring on the side of the parents, asking the question that matters--it takes a village but a village respecting the parents that truly matters.  I'm grateful we had that village; I want to be that village.  And there my friend is your answer....a village with boundaries--hope I don't cross them....