Today’s topic of reflection, from #WhiteFragility by #RobinDiAngelo:

A few years ago, the bf and I drove through Selma, AL on a Sunday on the way to Birmingham so I could get on a plane and head back to school.

We didn’t quite put together that “Sunday early afternoon in the Deep South” meant that *nothing* would be open.

But there we were.

We wandered around what legit felt like a ghost town. Walked over the bridge, talked about the history we were standing on, visited the [exterior of the] First Baptist Church where the organization of the Selma To Montgomery march(es) took place.

We spent the morning in contemplation and conversation about how little we had been taught about these spaces, these moments in time. We vowed to come back and spend time in the Selma Interpretive Center. To learn more.

[as an aside, we have since been back and it’s one of the most moving NPS sites we’ve been to: ]

But, that Sunday when everything was closed, we were hungry and wanted lunch before we finished our drive to Birmingham.

Enter a yelp search and the discovery that only one restaurant was open. Described as “delicious soul food” — we were sold.

We showed up and were the only white people.

I can probably count on one hand the number of times that has happened to me in my life.

It is rare for me to be made aware of my race. To have feelings of racial self-awareness. To feel a sense of not belonging because of my race.

But we were welcomed warmly, with smiles and open arms — the man ahead of me in line tried to get me to take his piece (the last one of the day) of peach cobbler because “it’s the best you’ll have in your life” and he could “have it next time.”

When I refused, he bought it and then gave it to me with a wink.

It was the best I’ve had in my life. As was the rest of the meal.

And the warm feeling of welcomeness, despite everyone being in their Sunday best and us being in clothes for a long drive and flight.

I think about that lunch a lot. About how awkward I felt, how aware of my difference.

But I never felt unwelcome.

How different it must be to be constantly aware of your difference & to made to not belong.

I may never know that feeling, but I know I can work towards a change.

I will also mention that the yelp reviews also called it “a broken down, filthy looking.”

That sort of coded, racist language just hits this home even further to me.

Was it a beautiful, bright, modern building? No. But it was hands down one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten.

It’s rare for us whites to experience a sense of not belonging. Even rarer to feel a sense of unwelcome. We get warned away from places/events where we might be in the minority (coded as “sketchy,” “scary,” etc).

I’m not sure where I’m going with this thread other than processing and reflecting and examining moments in my own life that have opened my eyes a little more to the reality of others.

If you’ve read this far, I hope it’s made you open your own eyes a little more too. L