CULTURE

I’m Not That Kind of White

I only have one thing in common with those folk

photo via Pexels

I’m a mid-forties woman, born and raised in the South. I have dogs, pitbulls actually. I have a common Southern last name, given to me by my ex-husband; his people were from Alabama.

That blurb there, that’s where the similarities between myself and those other white folk ends. I don’t play tennis at the country club like my ex-husband's second wife does. You won’t catch me anywhere near the Junior League event calendar, the DAR meeting hall, or anywhere else those types of people gather.

I’m not that kind of white.

I don’t have anything in common with those people. I don’t need to kayak and base jump for adrenaline rushes. I can get that same rush trying to get in and out of my neighborhood at 3 a.m., depending on what night of the week it is.

I’m not the kind of white who calls the cops. I know better. At best, they don’t help. At worst, they find something to charge you with and now you know exactly why you shouldn’t have called them.

I don’t answer the door without a warrant. Even then, I probably still won’t answer. If they’re coming in, they’re coming in.