I’m an introvert. Shocking to those who know me, but it’s true. I’m an introvert and when I walk into places, I do not usually want to be noticed. I simply want to do what I need to do, visit with those I care about, and leave…unnoticed.

I’ve always found myself a bit “odd”. I’m shorter than my very tall sister. I have a high pitched voice that I can’t seem to lower. I’m flat footed with posture I know I need to improve. I have no hand-eye coordination and the one sport I did play, I was always one of the worst-though most hardworking, players. I also have a quirky sense of humor and when I laugh- really laugh- it’s more of a guffaw which surprises everyone, especially me. I understand and appreciate my differences. However, I think I overestimate how many other people notice them.

I never knew how much someone could feel judged, truly judged or resented. In fact, I am extremely lucky. I’m white, quiet, polite, perceived as straight, and perhaps…just perhaps- appear to be mousy. This allows others to ignore me. Not in a rude way- but in a way that they don’t stare or make rude remarks (that I hear) behind my back due to perceived differences.

Recently, I became angry. Something happened that knocked me off my feet with its horrible reality. Something that’s not fair, that’s not right, that’s not moral, that’s not understandable. But it happens. Again and again.

Judgement based on perceived differences.

I have a friend. Friend does not describe or accurately summarize what this person means to me. She’s someone who I have known for decades. Someone who has seen me at my best and my worst. Someone who has seen me at my highest and my lowest. Someone who accepts me for me and who I accept for who she is in this world. This friend is one of the exceptional people in my life who- though have no blood relation- is my family. And who I know will be a part of my life until the end of my days. But, for the purposes of the blog and a brief descriptor word- she’s my friend.

My friend came out to me when she was twenty or so. We both knew it long before she actually said the words. It’s just who she is and who she was born to be. We had our growing pains once she verbalized it and I tried to figure out where my role fit in during that period of life. Through it, we fought, lost a bit of touch, and both experienced moments without one another. But- when the time was right- we found each other again. And it was as if a moment had not passed without knowing she was just a phone call away. We are now, forever friends, both married to people we love.

I have never had to make an announcement of my own – or have a coming out party for any reason. I met my first boyfriend- and now husband- at age 15. We began dating at 17 and have been together ever since. I never had to explain my sexuality or argue with parents and loved ones why it was right for me. No one asks. No one thinks that I am anything but a heterosexual woman. I have a life partner who is a male. Thus no one tries to put me in a category- they’ve already assigned me a box.

This wonderful, amazing, and funny friend of mine and I took a trip to a place in Southern Washington close to the Columbia River. We spent the weekend at an Alpaca Ranch – which is worth another, more easygoing blog post. The ranch was twenty minutes away from the nearest community. The owners of the ranch were extremely gracious and didn’t seem to care whether we were a couple, friends, or strangers. Just as owners of any inn should be to their guests.

If you’ve never been to the Columbia Gorge, I highly recommend the area. It’s beautiful. I kept thinking, “is this real? or a painting?”. I’ve been fortunate enough to travel to the Swiss Alps and had the same feeling- being in the shadow of such majestic scenery is pretty amazing. And right here in the Pacific Northwest.

My friend and I had a lovely time. As we were on our own and exploring the beautiful surroundings, there was only laughter or thoughtful conversation. I, and I dearly hope she, felt safe to share our genuine selves.

The town of White Salmon was about ten miles/twenty minutes away from the ranch. We drove there each day to get our meals and putz around the picturesque town. Yet a strange thing happened when we went into town.

I have never known the feeling of walking in a room, and instantly feeling people size me up, try to assess me, suspect me of wrongdoing, or resenting me on first sight. At least that I have been aware of during a situation. But in White Salmon, things were just off.

I didn’t notice at first. I just started to get the feeling that people were just not engaged with their customers. We wandered around the drugstore for about twenty minutes with store employees not being helpful at all. It was then that I noticed people were awkwardly looking and actively ignoring both of us. It was bad enough that my friend and I looked at each other multiple times and shrugged our shoulders. Odd, but not obvious discrimination or judgement. Just extremely poor service.

A woman at the drugstore slowly mopped in front of me where I was muttering and asking where they may have sunglasses and she gave me a look. A look that said she resented me for being there. She was curious about me but seemed mostly just full of thoughts I didn’t want to hear. I’m not even quite sure how to describe the look, or the feeling that I got at that moment. But it was all I could not to slam my items on the counter, say, “it’s obvious you do not want my money”, and walk out. But, unfortunately I really needed those cough drops and we needed the erasers for our art project that we were working hard on completing. It’s pretty rare that I get to that point of sheer anger- I will rarely lose my temper in front of strangers (in fact, I may have only done that once in my lifetime), but I was there.

Once we made our purchases and walked out, I asked my friend, “Was I imagining that behavior? Am I overreacting?”. She assured me that I did not imagine it and yes, they were extremely rude and obviously put out that we were in their store. It didn’t hit me then how it made me feel. I just let that feeling sit deep in my gut.

We wandered over to a restaurant. It looked good. The theme to the restaurant was seemingly hip and therefore I interpreted it was going to be friendly. Nope. They provided the same level of service and same level of rudeness as the drugstore.

Now, I am assuming, due to the nonstop, piss poor service we received from every single shop and person we encountered (two exceptions: the bookstore and a person weeding the roadside flower beds), that people are either extremely unfriendly in White Salmon to tourists or to people who are perceived to be “different”. Either way, it provided me invaluable insight – even just a sliver of what it must feel like – to be perceived as different or a minority. And frankly, I didn’t like the feeling.

It hit me like a slap in the face. What makes people feel so superior over other people? What gives a person the right to think that someone’s race, sexual orientation, or religion makes them lesser of a person? My parents taught me to be inclusive. The religion I grew up believing in did not make me superior to anyone. The color of my skin did not place me on a higher playing field than everyone else.

Until people presumed that I was gay, they never thought of me any differently than a “normal” stranger. A person eating in a restaurant. A person shopping in a pharmacy. A person wanting to window shop and perhaps pick up a trinket or two.

I took a deep breath and asked my friend- this amazing warm, friendly, beautiful, welcoming, and funny person- if she ever felt discriminated against because of her sexual orientation. She paused and thought about it for a second. She responded that yes- of course she felt discriminated against. Many times. She had almost gotten used to it. It didn’t affect her like it used to when she first came out.

So what kind of world do we live in that someone becomes used to being judged? Why is this okay?

In eighth grade, I debated the side of no on Measure 9, a measure in Oregon. Measure 9 sought to change the wording in the Oregon Constitution to state that all governments in Oregon could not use monies or properties to “promote” homosexuality. This included public schools who would need to recognize these “behaviors” were abnormal and wrong. I debated it in front of a classroom of students. I didn’t grade well on the debate because under pressure, I declared that, “it was just not right” as my response to the argument in favor of the measure. It wasn’t a strong argument but to me, it was common sense. It was just not right. It was wrong. And I still believe it’s as simple as that- it’s just not right.

I am not sure what to do or how to continue to react with this insight and knowledge. I don’t know how to express this sick gut feeling that people I hold dear and love have to get “used” to being treated differently.

The people I choose to love and interact with are, for the most part, inclusive. And those who aren’t inclusive- I have come to terms that I am not going to change their minds. I’d love to say the magic words so that they think like I do…but there are no magic words. I worry at times that someone who is looking at my blogs about the Kenya Maua Methodist hospital will stumble on this blog and be turned off due to my inclusiveness. I don’t want people to not know or want to hear about things simply based on my views. I want people to know about the people of Kenya. I want people to see my pictures of Riley the Pug.

At the same time, I can’t not talk about or reflect on something I hold dear- equality for everyone no matter their sexual orientation, their abilities, their race, or their religion.

I can say, that some of the kindest and most generous people I know fit into those societal boxes of being gay or lesbian, or African-American (or African for that matter), or are of different religious beliefs than mainstream, or have another perceived difference. And some of the kindest and most generous people I know ARE deeply faithful people or people in the majority. Kindness is kindness. Cruelty is cruelty. And truly- I believe that if someone is judged based on perceived differences- or treated differently as a result of those perceptions- that is cruelty. It is willfully causing pain to others. It is not seeing beyond the boxes or labels that are given to people from early on in their lives.

It’s not seeing people for how they treat others but instead for how they are thought to be different.

Some of the best parents I have ever met are in those “boxes”. Some of the most adorable and happiest children I know are children born to people in those “boxes”. People are people.

And some of the strangest, meanest, or rudest people I have ever met are considered to be a part of the perceived majority: heterosexual and white.

I have to continue to think on how I can continue sharing my view that it’s “just not right”. I have a readership of approximately one on my blog (shout out to Mom!) so I’m not sure that will get the word out. I know that I will share my views with people who will listen- and perhaps some people who will not. I also know I will not revisit White Salmon.

But how can I even begin to make a difference?

I suppose I make a difference by telling my friend that I love her. And that I respect her. And I think she’s one of the dearest people in the world. And I support her no matter what.

I suppose I make a difference in telling various peoples’ stories as I meet different types of people with different backgrounds. I suppose I make a difference by continuing to reflect on and write about how the people in White Salmon made me feel because they didn’t like where I came from or what I represented to them. That insight will be invaluable as I go forward. In a way I’m glad I felt that because I’m reminded that people do not think as I think.

What a reminder…sometimes, things are just not right.

I love you my dear friend. You are perfect just as you are in this world.