Let me tell you a little something about "white privilege"...
I was born a poor, white kid with hyper-emotionalism, in a small southern town. Throughout the majority of my childhood, my family lived in housing projects and low-income neighborhoods, where we lived feast or famine, hand to mouth. And yes, most of these neighborhoods were "predominantly black" sections of town.
As if being constantly bullied and humiliated in school, due to my sensitivity and poverty wasn't bad enough, I was tormented all the time on the bus and in my own neighborhood, because of the color of my skin. I was constantly singled out, shoved and jumped by two or three guys at a time, to the point where life was often a living hell.
It didn't help that my dad was an abusive drunk, who was also a very outspoken racist (the genuine article, not a Black Lives Matter/Al Sharpton victim). So, most of the time, I had nowhere to turn for any peace, and was always being beaten on by someone.
Thankfully, there were a few good people in my life, who made things at least bearable. My mother, my current wife (and childhood crush) and my best friend Nick. I honestly believe that without each of them, I wouldn't be here today (or, at least not the man I am now).
I can remember, after my dad left, things got harder. There were times when we actually had to dig in the couch cushions to find enough change to eat that night. My mom taught me perseverance and doing whatever it takes to get out of a bad situation.
There were times, when I would go to school black and blue from the beatings my father gave me, and I would see the love of my life. She would do anything she could to make me laugh and would never allow me to give up on myself or put myself down. She taught me the value of love, and feeling like you matter to someone.
And then there was Nick... we hung out at each other's homes all the time, and he would actually have my back and stand up for me against anyone who picked on me in the neighborhood. We weren't like brothers, we were brothers. He taught me that stereotypes are wrong, and not everyone of a certain race is alike (whether you're white, black or other). Once, he even had a bottle of baby powder dumped over his head on the bus, because he hung out with me, and was "acting white".
Anyway, the moral of my personal story is this... Don't you dare speak to me about how "privileged" I am because of the color of my skin. Don't try to tell me how white people are all racist, or can't understand oppression and discrimination. And do not get in my face, telling me that the life of a criminal, or a two-bit thug, matters more than mine.
I'm not a racist because I believe that our laws should be upheld, or that people should conduct themselves in a civilized way (no matter what color they are). I'm not prejudice, just because I don't accept poverty as an excuse for lawlessness, and believe that everyone should work for the things they want on life (whether it's a new car, or a better community).
If you were to meet me now, you'd see a white, middle class man with a shiny new car, and a great family. Don't mistake that for privilege, when you have no idea about all the fighting and crap I had to go through to get here. Don't judge me (or anyone else) until you know every step of the journey.
So, you can take all your "white privilege" B.S. and flush it down where it truly belongs.
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