I Have Something to Say

My friend's grandparents are extremely racist. I've never met them, but that's what he told me. He said he told them about me and that I'm black. His grandma told him he's hanging out with the "wrong crowd". When the crowd is 95% of the time just me and him. Apparently his grandma worked at this apartment building in the ghetto. It was disgusting and government funded or whatever. And according to him, everyone that lived their was black, ghetto, rude and lazy. So that's why she hates black people, he said.

Bigots are funny in that they think whatever group they hate is the only group of people that do stupid shit. I know plenty of ghetto, rude and lazy white people. I know plenty of people like that are multiple races.

The thing that irritates me the most is that my friend tells me all the things his grandparents hate about black people, and then says "but you're not like that though" and I'm just like, shit, I know. Tell them that. Tell them that I work. Tell them that I buy my own food for your house. Tell them that I'm going to school. Tell them that we take turns paying for things. But he's like "they're too old to change their minds" dude, you don't know that. You didn't even try. You sit their and let your grandparents think shit about me when they've never even met me. What's worse is that sometimes he defends them. He'll be like "well where my grandma worked it WAS actually only black people" So? Your grandma hasn't ever met any other black people? Your grandma doesn't know of any successful black people? Your grandma doesn't know any people that aren't black that are lazy and rude?

I got lost with this point, but ehh.

JaggedLittlePill · 46-50, F

I used to tell my mother. I fought my mother tooth and nail for ages on these same things.

In middle school I had a best friend named Heather. Heather was moving away to Europe. Her father was military. She was having a goodbye sleepover. I asked to go. My mom said yes.

Wait.

I thought better of it a day or so later and reasked...why? Because Heather was black. Heather ....in my moms mind was not the name of black girls. It hit me like a tons of bricks. So I re-asked. I told her Heather was black and could I still go.

The answer was no.

It was from that time forward that I fought. I would counter every horrible thing she ever said. I do not know how many times she threatened to disown me because I refused to carry on that hate and false rhetoric.

Your friend does not get it yet. He probably never will. Unfortunately, like his grandparents, his ideologies will never change.