There were only 3 black people in my public high school (that I can remember). We didn't have a lot of diversity in our community, but I would have been shocked if my parents had ever expressed that interracial or gay relationships were not normal. Thinking back my brother did have a black girlfriend for a time. I remember comments in my family that she was completely crazy, but that comment was made about more than one of his girlfriends, so not unique to her.

One of the first Jamaicans I met when I moved to Florida is Chinese, so although I was surprised at the time, he explained that he was hardly alone in his heritage. I didn't know right away, it wasn't until I heard him talking to his dad on the phone that the full accent appeared and I asked.

My parents never, never ever ever, said any similar to me. Oh hell no.

I grew up in LA during the 80s, when there was a lot of gang violence and hence there were discussions about how to avoid being a victim. Even so, those focused on clothing and behaviors, not skin color. But I do think there is some inherent racism in those kinds of talks, which isn't to say I think my parents were big ol' racists, more that even at the time it was clear that the language can impose categorizations that are problematic even when you are trying to avoid using race to categorize people.

Nail polish fans! I met the lady behind NailNerd.com today, and her site is definitely worth checking out. She does tutorials (like these "corpse nails" - [link] and her nail art is pretty amazing (look at her tv/movie inspired manicures - [link]

Wait -- that article wasn't a parody?!

I feel dirty now.

I'm a Daddy's girl, and in 6th grade or so, my dad cracked a black joke, and I stood up and I was all "Daddy, I love you, but I have never been so disappointed in you in my life. I never thought my daddy was a racist."

He was shocked and pulled out "...But we had two black fellas in high school and they were really popular, and were really nice guys" and "One of my friends at work is black and we go out and have a beer all the time!"

I just looked at him and said "Would you EVER tell this joke to THEM?"

crickets.

"You're right. I never would. That's...messed up. I'm sorry."

It took a long time of me calling him out on his socially in-bred racism (born in 1940), but flash-forward to my teen years and him trying hard, but back-sliding (note: lived in in a town and a neighborhood where there were like 2% Black population.

He said...something, I don't remember what, but it was mildly racist, and I sighed and said "Daddy, what if the next time I dated someone, he was Black?"

Long pause. "Hon, I won't lie. It would take some adjustment to my way of thinking. But I trust you, and you wouldn't bring home a fella that wasn't a good person, so I'd support it."

Flash-forward 10 years. I brought a (White) girlfriend home for Xmas and my uncle made a racist comment. My gf quietly stood up: "Mr and Mrs Erin's folks, forgive me. But I cannot sit at a table with someone who is racist." And she left the table, and I was all "Uncle, I agree with her. I am ashamed," and walked off with her.

As I left the room, I heard my dad and mom saying "W----, they are right. That was pretty hateful thing to say."

College years: I brought three friends home with me for an evening, before I drove them to the airport for Spring Break. One Black, one gay, one pierced, tatted and leather-jacketed. They didn't want to stay; they were nervous about their treatment. (This was 1992.)

They were shocked, amazed and grateful, when both parents greeted them with cookies, a home-cooked meal and enthusiasm. "We've heard so much about you! Come in! Welcome! Tell us all the embarrassing stories about Erin!"

My mom asked K, my gay friend, if he was dating anyone and if his BF was handsome; when P, my Black friend, waxed enthusiastic about my mom's cooking but said he was looking SO forward to his mom and grams' holiday meal, Daddy said "No matter how good someone else's food is, there's just nothing like your mom's cooking, right?" and my be-tatted biker friend said, when we were having a cig, "No one's parents have ever been as nice to me as yours. They didn't blink an eye at me."

About 10 years later, I was home for a weekend, and a Black family (the first -- @@) was moving into the neighborhood -- which was white as milk. I was helping Daddy in the yard, and he was yakking with a neighbor, and the neighbor said something about being "nervous" that a Black family was moving in.

Daddy snorted and was all "Bullshit. What is this, 1911? I don't care what color they are, as long as they are good neighbors. Why should you?"

Flash forward to 2008:

Dad: "That Obama fella, I'm voting for him. Black, white, purple, green -- I just want a president who's smart and not batshit-crazy."

I'm not proud of my dad's racism, but I AM proud that -- over an extended period of time (too long IMHO) he recognized how wrong it was and changed his worldview.

My mom never gave a rat's ass about color. Only thing I can ever recall her saying about race was pointing to a Black woman with a very short, natural hairdo and sighing wistfully (after Mom's hair only grew into a pixie after chemo) and saying "I wish I had Black hair; my hair would look so much better like THAT."

Strangely enough, neither of my folks were ever homophobic. (Remember, I grew up in in a rural, then small town environment) and all my folks ever said about gayness was "Eh. Love is love. Who cares?" And they are both supporters of gay marriage.

The weird thing to me is that my dad (continued...)

( continues...) never THOUGHT he was a racist, until it was pointed out to him.

I never stopped loving him. But I also never stopped challenging him.

Is the Nail Nerd painting with her left hand onto her right nails, or are those transfers of some sort? I was talking to a nurse with pictures on her nails a week or so ago, and she just said the pics on her off nails were fucked up, but no one could tell.

Nail polish fans! I met the lady behind NailNerd.com today, and her site is definitely worth checking out. She does tutorials (like these "corpse nails"

Oooh, nice. (Note to Self: next manicure, go back to blood spatter.)

Both bathrooms are clean! Load of dishes done. Now to WASH ALL THE CLOTHES because I found an earwig in a newly-washed jacket that I hadn't put away yet.

And thanks, Buffistas, for providing the name of that ooogly gross bug.

Later my sister and her very helpful boyfriend are coming over and we're gonna paint my bathroom. Which means I really gotta vacuum sometime today too.

And of course, conveniently, today is the day of my regularly-scheduled unstoppable back pain. 4 Advil and a Valium in order to function. "They" tell me I don't have PCOS or anything in particular wrong with me, and the Mirena was supposed to stop this obviously .-related pain, so I don't know what the fuck.

That is a good story, Erin. I am glad it's a true one.

Erin, that is a wonderful story. I can imagine it would be hard to change the beliefs you were raised with, and good for your dad for being able to listen to your criticism and change.