Normally Prejudice

**If you're going to read this post, you must read the entire thing. Reading it partially, you will certainly miss the point I'm trying to make and probably think I'm a prejudice jerk.**

Today, I get to go and spend some time in a place that always challenges me to evaluate myself, my prejudices and my interactions with others.

I'm not going to a political rally or a revival or even to a self-help conference. Today I get to spend some time at our county's health department.

I will go today to pick up more WIC vouchers for Baby D's formula.

Let me start by saying that my prejudices are not toward the people in general who need this incredible program. When I was pregnant with the twins, Luke and I took advantage of the fact that we qualified for the WIC program. We used and enjoyed our WIC vouchers for almost 10 months until our income became such that we no longer met the qualification requirements. Trust me, if we still qualified, we'd still be utilizing this resource.

And, when I say prejudice I am not speaking of racial assumptions. Yes, like everyone else, I can sometimes struggle to find balance in treating all peoples equally. However, this is not the prejudice I am refering to either.

When I visit our county health department, I find prejudice as a parent. I find prejudice as a citizen. I find prejudice as a tax payer.

Let me start by giving you the definition of prejudice. It may not be what you think. It is not specific to black/white relationships but rather

1.	an unfavorable opinion or feeling formed beforehand or without knowledge, thought, or reason.

2.	any preconceived opinion or feeling, either favorable or unfavorable.

I chose these two definitions because I feel that they encompass the emotions I feel.

As I walk through the doors of the health department I am greeted by no one. The receptionist sits off to the side of the lobby in an uninviting, cold, glass box. You may only speak to her when she takes time out of a pressing assignment to acknowledge your presence.

I make my way upstairs to a familiar waiting room only to be reminded that through out the health department the furniture is cold, hard and unfriendly. I make my way through more doors and down a long hall way so that I can check in.

I am sent back to the waiting room for my name to be called. If my appointment is at 2:00pm (which is the case today) I am not ensured that I will be promptly called at 2 o'clock. Instead, I wait, sometimes in the upwards of an hour.

I am now forming my opinions of this establishment. Why must it be so cold and hard? Why are these workers, though usually friendly, always rushed? Why is this building so....dirty?

As I sit, waiting for my name to be called, I must evaluate more of my prejudices. I see people from all races waiting for their turn. I find myself questioning them and asking myself how they could

1. Not be properly dressed.

• This includes wearing appropriate undergarments. Some women are clearly not addressing the need for "support" if you catch my drift.
  
• Clothing that looks as though it would be more suitable when used at a night club. More specifically a club that caters to gentlemen.
  
• Clothing that has vulgar messages and/or pictures

Let me say that I understand that not all people have access to a washer and dryer. Dirty clothing is understandable. Clothing that give my children a new metal picture that I wasn't ready for them to see it not acceptable. I'm glad that my kids are still non-readers.

2. Allow their kids to

• Crawl on a public floor. It's obviously dirty and their hands show the filth of a publically used building.
• Teethe on a public toy.
• Chew on a public chair.

3. Have little to no self control. The last time I went, I overheard a conversation between two other folks who were waiting. They discussed how angry they were for having to be there so early in the morning. They proceeded to tell each and every person that would listen how pitiful the service was and how terrible it was they had to wait. It was not a complaint made with tact, to the proper person but rather a public assault on the exact program that provided food for their family.

As I watch these interactions and events unfold I am reminded that all people come from somewhere. It is where you came from and what you know that, all too often, determines your social behaviors and your perception of what is acceptable.

I used to teach middle school in a low income school district. It was told to me that anywhere from 80-95% of the students were on Free/Reduced Lunches. This program helps determine the income level of the school district. Ours was one that ranked fairly high in the state when listed in order of poverty.

I loved these children, just as I love all children. The difference was, I truly had a heart for these kids. They took all of me and I gave all freely. It wasn't until I had children of my own that I realized just how much my students needed. It was then I had to make a choice. Who gets my left-overs? My students deserved a teacher that could give without reservation. My children deserved a mom that had fresh energy and excitement end of the day. I could not be both, so I chose my family.

I have so many good stories about my time teaching. Most of them are filled with laughter. However, some are not. I remember making a home visit one of the first weeks I taught. The house was barely fit to live in. There were maybe 11 people living in a 2 bedroom house. There were boards and plastic on the windows. No electricity. I doubt running water.

I kept asking myself, "How is someone living like this when just miles away there are million dollar homes?"

Another student I had....how do I say this tactfully.....became a woman at school. She began her cycle. I gave her a week's supply of sanitary products and explained to her the importance of using and changing them. Midway through the next day, it was obvious that she had not taken hold of the importance of frequent changing. I pulled her into the hall and asked her about it. She told me her mom said you only change it every other day, so you'll have enough. I was floored.

The point in those stories is so I can ask the question,

"What is normal? What is your background? Where do you come from?"

All of us are educated by something. The question is not lack of education but rather knowing where the education was received.

We all live out the customs that we were taught in our homes growing up. As with most of my students, they did what the did because that's what they knew.

These people in the health department do what they do because that's what they know. I will not judge them for their life experiences. I will not place my perceptions of their life on a scale weighing them as less. I say will not because it will need to be a conscious effort. I must remember Christ.

I remember when I was 10 and my mom and I moved to North Carolina after she married my step-dad. It was our first few weeks here and I kept wondering when it would get back to normal. Days and weeks went by and things never went back to normal.

You see, I was waiting for what I knew to be true. In my previous world, my Dad's side of the family was always together. We ate almost every meal with everyone squeezed around my Granny and Paw's table. There were aunts, uncles, cousins. There was lots of laughter and tons of food.

Here in my new life, little of that applied. It was a culture shock. My new family was wonderful, but based on my past education of family, they were weird.

As I head off for a day of reality checks and waiting, I challenge you to respond to the following questions:

What is normal for you and how does it influence your opinion of others? What role does your faith play in your perception of people who are different than you?