As much as I'd like to believe that racism is a thing of the past, it reared it's ugly face recently when I saw a man with tattoo markings of the Third Reich. I passed this man and thought nothing of it, since I saw him from the front. When I saw him again, his back was towards me and there it was in black ink...markings of hate. He was with his wife and was holding a baby. The only thing I could think of at that time was the hatred that man has will continue on another generation with his child.When I got home and kept thinking about that man and his tattoos and what they meant, something hit me. Maybe, those tattoos marked a stage in his life he now regrets. One that was filled with hate, a needed sense of belonging through those difficult teenage years. A stage where he found a "brotherhood" to substitute what he wasn't getting from his family. After thinking about this for a while, I realized he knew darn well, he was going to be around a lot of people of all different races. If those markings were from a transformed past, wouldn't he find a way to cover them up and not have them out on display? Instead he made a conscious descision to go shirtless so his tattoos could be seen. I not longer could give him the benefit of a doubt.
There I was...stuck with these feelings that "we" have a long way to go towards acceptance right here in our backyard. I still wonder about the motivation behind those tattoos. You can't judge a book by its cover, but in this instance it's hard not to.
No comments:
Post a Comment