tHe MeLTiNg PoT

"You like my curves but you despise me. You want the fullness of my lips but you don't think I'm beautiful. You try to mimic the hue of my skin but when I wear it, it sickens you. You gorge yourself on the foods of my culture but think of me as nothing but inferior......You hate and fear what you don't understand. But I will persevere because I am original."

This was a short poem that I wrote to encourage those who were mocked or vilified in certain circles because of their differences. There's a blatant hypocrisy in this that I thought highlighting would be educational and helpful. I am a self professed foodie, a former professional cook and culinarian, and I come from a family of world travelers. I say that last part with tongue firmly in cheek. My mother and my deceased grandmother loved to travel and they've always been that way. Their travels and the resulting experiences have molded my love for travel. I've always been a "people watcher" so getting to see people from other countries and various parts of our country are always enlightening.

I have really fond memories growing up in Brooklyn and having the annual Caribbean parade that would run the full length of Eastern Parkway. It was an annual event for my family since my maternal side hailed from the region. Being born and raised in New York City, which was already a melting pot of culture and heritage, plunged me into that mindset automatically. But that parade was almost a culmination. Eastern Parkway stretched far enough through the Borough that most every social and economical class was touched. From lower class to the very affluent. But at the parade, everyone was welcome and everyone enjoyed a culture that many onlookers knew nothing about. They enjoyed the dancing of scantily clad ladies (just sayin'), the pulsating, vibrant music of the islands that just had a way of instantly making you happy, the excitement in the air, the table that offered wares, creations, and often something innovative, if nothing else, a cool beverage to counteract a very warm day. There was something for everyone and everyone partook. This memory prompted the poem.

What a dichotomy or paradox if you will! How is it possible to love the dancing, the dramatic performance, the skillful artistry, the incredible vocal and instrumentals that prompted you to shake away your troubles and enjoy life on another level in that moment,  the bright, brilliant colors, the pomp and circumstance, the eye popping cultural nuances, the foods that carried the flavor of what some might consider paradise, but still hate the person who is responsible for the creation of and is daily the carriers of that culture.

This is just one example. Pick a culture. There are so many that can elicit these kinds of feelings. How can you or I hate with such a reckless abandon but casually eat the food of their region, wear the garb of their origin, daily utilize the inventions they invented, and dance to the music they penned and labored to offer to the world? Sounds ridiculous and hypocritical, doesn't it?

Just a thought for your Monday morning.