Ever find yourself in unwanted situations with parents, situations that you try desperately to avoid but nevertheless seem to seek you out? It's as if the Universe has a twisted sense of humor and is conspiring against you. Maybe there's a lesson here ... and maybe my skull is too thick to get it?
I stayed at my father's house overnight, and this morning I decided we should go to a pancake house for breakfast. See, my dad never keeps any food in his house. He is married, however, his wife lives 2 doors down in her deceased mother's house. Long story. Anyway, he usually eats at the other house or goes out. But even when I come to visit, he never has any food.
That's why I travel with my own food! I brought bagels to eat, since I knew I would be lucky to get breakfast. But the previous day at my younger sister's house, I had had a bagel--because she seems to share my father's preference for never planning for houseguests. (I must be adopted!)
Tired of bagels and warmed holiday leftovers, I suggested a pancake house. My dad agreed. He knew his wife liked one particular place, so he called her to ask for directions. It turned out to be just another International House of Pancakes (IHOP). Fine with me. Except here's where the Universe gets cheeky.
We're seated in a section that was enclosed in its own little room. And this truly was an "international" house of pancakes day. At two nearby tables were seated Hispanic families, all speaking Spanish. Another family came in right behind us. A family of Asian ethnicity was also seated nearby. Add to the mix at least four squealing toddlers.
The loud children bother me a tad, but I can deal. My father, however, cannot. But the children were the least of my problem. All you could hear was Spanish--and my dad is not known for his appreciation for diversity. Yes, he's your stereotypical white cracker who wants all non-English speakers shipped back to their home country. He blames immigrants for everything that's wrong in the U.S.
At least there were no African Americans in the room nor any mixed-race couples. (He once walked out of a restaurant because a young black man and white woman were seated next to us.)
He didn't say anything, but I could literally feel the tension coming from him. I tried to ignore it, to "deflect" his energy. I waited for the inevitable outburst. And I wondered why in the hell the Universe was doing this to me. Couldn't we simply enjoy pancakes without an incident? Why did we have to pick the most diverse IHOP in town?
The tipping point came when a large family was seated next to us. "Thank God they're white!" I thought. But, oh no, not that simple. They had a 8- or 9-year-old son with some degree of mental retardation, and the boy kept shouting, "Pancakes! Pancakes!" And when he wasn't bouncing in his seat and fidgeting, he was scribbling frantically on the placemat with a crayon.
I couldn't breathe. And I don't know if it was my own rising stress level, but it seemed the noise in the room was growing louder and louder. I finally let out a big sigh and mentioned the noise to dad. Fortunately, we were almost done eating. I chuckled a bit, trying to break the unbearable tension. Dad chuckled, too, and shook his head. He looked up at me, raised his brow and only said, "I ain't gonna say anything."
At least we had an understanding. I snatched the check and we went to pay--only to reach the cashier and see that the entrance was FULL of people waiting to be seated. You may be thinking, "why is that a problem?" Well, for most people, it wouldn't be. But, gentle reader, everyone waiting happened to be black.
It was as if my dad was cornered! He turned, headed for the door and said, "I'll be outside!"
It didn't end there. I knew he had been uncomfortable, so I tried to play it off with humor. I guess it worked somewhat. But still I had to listen to how the Hispanics (or "Spanians" as he says--WTF?) are taking over the city, taking "our" jobs and so on. And he said he wasn't ever going back to that IHOP again! Not because of the food but only because of who ate there. And he had to tell his wife later (she didn't say very much).
Guess I should've stuck with the damn bagels.
I'm angry and frustrated because my father's world is so small and so full of fears of his own making. But he's 82 and isn't going to change. He knows I feel differently but it doesn't stop him from making insensitive and boneheaded comments. And I have other friends and family who are intolerant and bigoted. Part of me wants to avoid them. Part of me wants to leave this lily-white corner of the planet and move to a much more diverse place. And part of me would love to piss everyone off my shacking up with a black or Hispanic lover!
It makes me ashamed of who I am and where I come from. It makes me want to do whatever I can to fight intolerance and bigotry. But how? My dad isn't going to change. Why do people have to be so ignorant, so fearful, so small-minded? And it's everywhere--in our politics, our churches, workplaces, bookstores, colleges, cities and the Internet.
Sure, I'm happy with how I handled this one little situation, but what good does it really do? If nothing else, thank goodness those people in IHOP were clueless about my dad's hatred; there were all able to enjoy their pancakes. I was not.
